Snow Alpha

Chapter 24

Jughead Jones (Cole Sprouse) is absolutely fire - anyone else watch Riverdale?Xoxox

adella pov -

My eyes groggily open, squinting at the sudden light coming from my bifold lounge doors, I groan and lazily  snuggle back into the rock hard chest of Ashton.

After lying there for a while and not returning to my peaceful and lovely slumber, I once again open my eyes.

Then once my eyes have adjusted to the sudden light I look at my surroundings, I find myself now lying on top of Ashton, his head located in my neck and his arms round my torso.

I shuffle round trying to get out of his steel hard hold, he then grunts from underneath me, his husky morning voice filling my ears delightfully.

I stop moving and move my head to try and see him but our position prevents me from doing so, he then huskily says, "I'd stop doing that if I were you unless you want this situation to escalate to something else."

The realisation then hits in as I wasn't thinking what I was doing previously, I've been running my backside against his crotch area...awkward.

I then reply, "Please let go of me and I'll make us some food, I need to do something productive."

He grunts lowly and starts kissing the crook of my neck ever so softly, I arch myself into him - completely forgetting about the food making.

Knowing the priorities.

His hands make circular movements on my stomach, my top having ridden up. Within these few seconds I completely let slip the scarring on my stomach.

His whole body stops what it's doing and then rapidly we've changed position, the advantage of werewolf speed - damn.

I quickly try to cover up my stomach but he beats me to it and I'm now sitting on the couch, my back against the back rest and my legs spread apart. While he's on the floor, kneeling, his head reaching up to my chest anyways.

He gently lifts up my top, while looking me in the eye - asking wordlessly for permission, I take a few moments but then nod, feeling safe with him. Knowing that soon I would have to explain it anyways, might as well release the cat from the bag rather than it clawing its way out.

His eyes then divert back to my now partially lifted t-shirt, his hands carefully outlining my scarred stomach.

His rough fingers trace my soft, pink, marked skin; I closed my eyes at first, worried about rejection, hoping he wouldn't guess what they came from.

I then opened my eyes, after hearing no grunts or sounds of disapproval - I see his eyes wandering my belly, his fingers also doing the same and no signs of rejection in his face or movements.

I then pull my top down abruptly, snapping him out of his daze; I jump off the other side of the couch and walk into the kitchen - not wanting to face any questions.

I quickly head to the counter and lean against it, needing something to support my weight - knowing without it my body would give out.

Sure enough that's what it did, it crumpled and resulted, to now, my back resting against the wooden cupboard doors, my head in between my hands, resting on my still shaking knees.

The tears roll down my face without my permission, the wetness causing my mascara to most likely run, but that's the least of my worries at the moment.

I think back to what happened, how awful and painful it was - how horrible it was, it still is - the ache in my heart never ceasing.

My hands cradle my stomach, the stomach that once held a child.