I come for the chocolate. I stay for her scent. She doesn’t know I’d go to war for her muffin tops. That every morning I step into her bakery, it's not for espresso—it's to watch her fingers knead dough I want to ruin. She's soft, sweet, and utterly unprepared for what I am under the apron. But when someone tries to touch what’s mine? I show her exactly what a seven-foot scarred ex-warrior does with a body built for conquest—and a mouth trained to worship. Now she bakes for me. Fights for me. Sighs for me in the kitchen I bled to protect. I’m not just her sous-chef anymore. I’m her bonded mate. And I’ll pipe frosting with one hand while snapping necks with the other. She wanted benefits. She got a war. And if the Emperor thinks he can steal her? He better be ready to die sticky. Read on for grumpy sunshine, frosting-fueled mating claims, intergalactic pastry battles, and a scarred alien warlord who kneels only to his baker. HEA Guaranteed!