Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 189

Iris

Sunlight streams through my partially open curtains, painting warm stripes across the tangled white sheets. I wake slowly, my body pleasantly sore in ways I haven’t felt in years. An arm is draped heavily across my waist, and for a moment, I’m disoriented—and then the memories of last night come flooding back.

Arthur. The museum. Dancing in the rotunda. And then…

I shift slightly, turning to look at the man sleeping beside me.

My heart swells with a tenderness I’ve been trying to suppress for so long. Last night felt like coming home–like finding a piece of myself I didn’t even realize was missing until it slotted back into place.

Arthur stirs, his arm tightening around me. Slowly, his green eyes flutter open. They find mine immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs. His voice is deliciously rough from sleep, a sound that I have to admit I’ve missed sorely. over the past five years. Right now, every part of me hopes to hear it as often as possible, even if life and responsibilities and the sake of “taking things slow” makes that impossible.

“Hey yourself,” I whisper back. My face heats as his eyes flick over me, lingering briefly on my exposed breast, nipples slightly peaked in the morning coolness. But I don’t cover myself.

Wordlessly, his warm hand slides up my bare back, pulling me closer until I’m nestled against his chest.

“Sleep okay?” he asks.

“Better than I have in ages,” I admit, and it’s true. Arthur isn’t the only one who has had a bad sleep schedule for the past five years. Last night might have been the first night in a long time that I didn’t pass out from exhaustion/ after painting into the wee hours of the morning.

“Good.” His hand continues its gentle exploration of my back, drifting lower to trace the curve of my hip.

But despite the warmth of the moment, I find myself tensing slightly as his fingers brush across the faint stretch marks that pattern my lower belly and hips–little souvenirs I picked up from carrying Miles for nine months.

It’s been years since I’ve been this exposed with someone, and my body has changed since Arthur last saw it. The pregnancy and childbirth left their marks.

Normally, the changes don’t bother me. But I can’t deny the fact that now, in the light of the morning and with no alcohol clouding my system, I’m a bit self conscious.

Arthur notices my tension right away, just as I feared he might. His hand stills, and he pulls back slightly to look at me. “What’s wrong?”