Page 13 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Her mouth twitches. “You’re very… confident.”
“I don’t waste time doubting things I can smell.”
She goes quiet at that.
Not because she doesn’t understand.
Because shedoes.
The charge between us is real. Heavy. Cosmic. And she knows it. Even if she doesn’t have the words for it yet, her body recognizes the call. I can see it in the way her chest rises faster than normal, in the slight sheen at the base of her throat. Her pupils haven’t shrunk since she walked in.
She’s affected.
And that matters more than all the credits I came here to steal.
I lean back slightly, giving her space.
It costs me. Every fiber of my body demands proximity. I want to pull her into my lap and breathe her in until I lose trackof time. I want to know the curve of her hips, the softness of her sighs, the taste of her fear when it transforms into pleasure.
But not yet.
She deserves more than instinct.
She deserves a choice.
“I picked this place,” I say, “because it’s neutral ground. Expensive enough to impress. Populated enough to make you feel safe.”
Her brow arches. “You expect points for that?”
“No. Just awareness.”
She looks down for a moment. “Most men don’t think that hard.”
“I’m not most men.”
She looks up again. And this time, her expression shifts. Slightly. Something fragile slips through—interest. Maybe hope. Maybe hunger.
CHAPTER 4
YARA
He’s looking at me.
Really looking.
Not like someone waiting for a punchline or prepping an exit — like someone actuallyseeingme.
The waiter arrives — impossibly thin, just a whisper of a humanoid in a tailored vest, all polite angles — and asks if we’d like drinks. I blink, caught mid-stare.
“Something… not alien,” I say, attempting humor.
Grau doesn’t flinch. “I think we deserve something with both guts and finesse.” He studies the menu like it’s a tactical readout, not a list of overpriced cocktails.
The waiter nods, unfazed by a Reaper at a high-end human lounge.
“I’ll have the Solar Flare,” I decide on instinct — vaguely citrus, vaguely spicy, a drink named like a warning.
“Good choice,” Grau says, and I hear something behind his voice — approval? amusement? something like warmth, but sharp.
