Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 244

Iris

Arthur pushes open the bedroom door with his foot, careful not to bump my head against the frame. The moonlight streams through the large windows as he lowers me gently onto the plush comforter of the bed.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. He hovers above me, both hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of my head. We just take each other in, studying each other in the moonlight; I drink in the square line of his jaw, the soft green irises staring at me, long lashes sweeping across high cheekbones. His tousled dark hair, for once not styled to perfection for

photographs.

It’s like traveling back in time. Back to the days before he became Alpha President. Before my entire world was turned upside

down.

I can’t believe we spent five years apart.

Especially can’t believe that now, after all that heartbreak, we’re here–in a place that once meant the world to us, in a cabin he bought for me, with our son sleeping in the other room.

In love.

When he finally kisses me, it’s achingly tender at first–a soft press of his lips, a question rather than a demand. I answer by threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, gently and slowly deepening the kiss until I can practically hear his

heartbeat in my throat.

Arthur’s hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt, his palm warm against my skin as it travels up my side. I shiver at his touch,

arching into him instinctively.

Slowly and languidly, he begins to undress me, his fingers tracing each newly revealed inch of skin as if memorizing me all over again. When I’m completely bare before him, I reach for him, tugging at his shirt. “Your turn.”

He obliges, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The moonlight plays across the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, highlighting each ridge and peak. I run my hand across the planes of his body, trailing my fingers across all of his most

sensitive spots.

My hand moves of its own accord, not tracing in any particular direction–just feeling him, exploring him all over again.

Just as my fingers begin to meander downward, down to that irresistible length of hard cock that’s hidden beneath too many

layers of fabric, he leans down to capture my lips again and pulls my hands away as if forcing me to wait.

As I writhe beneath him, he grips my wrists, pinning them gently to the mattress. I buck my hips as he grinds his hips against me,

yearning to be free, to unbuckle his belt and feel his bare skin.

But he’s traitorously slow. His tongue slips into my mouth, swirling, probing, then his mouth sucks my lower lip inward. His lips

move down to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, and only then do his hands release my wrists and move to my breasts, thumbs

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Free once more, I fumble with the button of his jeans. He chuckles and helps me, shucking them off along with his boxers and

His tongue slips into my opening, thrusting gently into the first inch of space. It lingers there, swirling, tasting, pushing against