Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 112

Chapter 112

Iris & Arthur

Iris

Arthur’s mouth is warm and soft against mine, but his kiss is insistent, hungry, needy. His lips move against mine with a hot, heavy fervor, as if he needs the taste of me to keep on living.

I don’t think. I just move, pressing more firmly against his body. My head drops back, giving him better access to the deep recesses of my mouth. He pushes me back against the coats, one hand slipping down to grip my thigh, pulling my leg upward so it hitches around his hip. I feel something warm strain against his trousers, and it sends a thrill through me that I can’t ignore.

I want this. No, I need this. As our lips and limbs tangle in the dark closet, hands pushing fabric out of the way, legs stumbling back against the hard wall, I feel completely and utterly driven by the mate bond.

“Iris,” he groans against my neck, his mouth moving across the column of my throat. My name in his voice sounds like a prayer to the Moon Goddess, deep and reverent and full of meaning.

Without conscious thought, I slip the jewel–encrusted strap of my gown away from my shoulder, freeing the lace of my bra beneath. Something low and strangled rumbles in Arthur’s chest, and his hand cups my breast, making my own whimper of pleasure come out.

His lips move lower then, his fingers deftly slipping the lace aside to expose my breast. Before I can reach, his mouth latches onto the soft flesh, tongue swirling around my nipple.

I let out a choked gasp, clamping one hand over my mouth to stifle my cry as my other hand comes up to tangle my fingers in his dark hair. He groans, deep and low, as I give his hair a gentle tug in just the way I know he likes it.

As we move together, fumbling in the dark, it’s as if we’re falling easily into our old rhythms. It’s been five years since we’ve made love, and yet we still know every contour of one another’s bodies, every sensitive spot and favorite touch.

Arthur knows that I like when he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of my thighs, when he grazes his tongue across my collar bone. I know just how to trail my fingers over the nape of his neck to make him shiver pleasantly, and how he particularly gets off to the sensation of my tongue flicking across his upper teeth as I lock our lips together.

It’s easy, it’s familiar, and it’s everything I want.

But then, as always, reality comes crashing back.

“Arthur, darling, where did you go?”