From Behind

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and edged with a hint of disbelief. He leaned forward, his gaze piercing as he fixed his eyes on mine. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Amina," Shadow teased, but there was no malice in his voice, only a warm timbre that tried to soothe the wild beat of my heart.
"Stop," I protested, but my voice wavered, betraying the fear that clung to me like a second skin. "Don't mock my pain with your lies."
His face softened, the amusement melting into solemnity. He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before his hand cupped my cheek, his touch gentle. "I have been many things in this life, Amina, but never untrue to you. I swear it on the moon and stars, on the very air we breathe—I have never lain with another. My body, my soul, they yearn for no one but you."
The earnestness in his declaration bored into me, seeking the deepest recesses of my skepticism. His words, fervent and sincere, wrapped around the raw edges of my doubt. In his eyes, I found an ocean of truth, vast and fathomless, and something within me shifted, anchoring itself to the sincerity I saw there.
"Shadow..." The name came out as a whisper, a prayer. The jealousy that had clawed at my insides began to dissolve, washed away by the tide of honesty in his voice, in his very being. I wanted to disbelieve, to guard my heart against further ache, yet in that moment, with his gaze locked onto mine, I couldn't. The truth resonated within me, a clear bell in the chaos of my thoughts.
"Only you, Amina," he repeated, his voice a soft growl that resonated with a primal claim. "Always you."
Pulse pounding, I sprinted to the bathroom, snatching the first aid kit from the cabinet with hands that trembled. Bandages, antiseptic, gauze—I piled them into my arms and dashed back to the kitchen, where I set a pot of water to boil. The familiar clink of the ceramic teapot on the burner was a small comfort, a tiny anchor in the storm that raged within me. As it heated, my fingers worked methodically, measuring out loose-leaf tea with an almost mechanical precision.
"Steady, Amina," I muttered to myself, using the routine to center my swirling thoughts. Shadow needed me. He had come through the rain, that lethal cascade for his kind, just to reach me. My heart clenched at the memory of his pain-wracked face, the red blisters marring his usually flawless skin.
The whistle of the kettle snapped me back to the present, and I poured the steaming water into the pot, letting the leaves steep. Fifteen minutes—that's all I needed to prepare everything he would need.
When I returned to my room, arms laden with supplies and a steaming mug of tea balanced precariously on top, the sight that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs. Shadow stood in the center of the room, completely bare, the moonlight spilling through the window to caress his form like a lover's touch.
"Shadow..." My voice was barely audible, the name slipping out as if drawn by the magnetism of his presence. The raw power of his physique—muscles that rippled with restrained strength, the proud line of his shoulders, the grace of a predator even in stillness—commanded the space. And yet, there was an inexplicable softness in the curve of his jaw, the vulnerable tilt of his head as he regarded me, now devoid of any trace of pain.
"Your injuries..." I gasped, taking hesitant steps forward. Where once angry welts and blisters had marred his skin, now there was nothing but the smooth, unblemished flesh of his healing. Werewolf regeneration—a miracle and a mystery, manifest before my very eyes.
"Better," he confirmed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "Much better now."
My fingers released their hold on the kit and the mug, my entire being consumed by the vision of him, so vulnerable and yet so invincible. It struck me then—the sheer intensity of his vitality, the living proof of his otherworldly nature. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the chill of the night air.
"Shadow," I repeated, this time with a hint of awe coloring the syllables. He was here, in my sanctuary, seeking solace from his torment in the one place he knew he would always be welcome—in my arms, by my side, always.
I placed the first aid supplies and the now unnecessary mug of tea by the door, my hands trembling slightly from both adrenaline and confusion. With a shaky breath, I turned to close the door, making sure we would not be interrupted or seen. The click of the latch seemed to echo in the charged silence that enveloped the room.
As I bent down to gather the fallen items, his presence loomed behind me—a heat radiating off him that seemed to make the air around us shimmer. Before I could straighten up, his hands were on me, his body pressing mine forward against the cool wood of the door.
A gasp escaped my lips as I felt the warmth of his tongue on my sex—the intimacy of the act sending shockwaves through my core. His tongue moved with purpose, finding my clit with an accuracy that spoke of an inherent knowledge of my body, teasing out sensations that spiraled tightly within me.
My fingers clawed at the wall, seeking purchase as the world narrowed down to the relentless pleasure he was eliciting from me. The rough texture of the wallpaper abraded my fingertips, grounding me to the here and now—that I was alive, I was desired, and the man I loved was between my thighs, worshipping me with every flick and lap of his tongue.
"More," I moaned, my voice a strangled whisper laden with need. My back arched involuntarily, pressing into him further, craving more of his touch, more of this delirious delight.
His hands roamed upwards, strong and sure, cupping my breasts with a gentleness that juxtaposed the fervent actions of his mouth. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, coaxing them into taut peaks, sending ripples of pleasure that joined the maelstrom he was creating in my pussy.
Every movement of his skilled hands, the insistent caress of his mouth—it all pushed me closer to the edge, to a precipice I was all too willing to tumble over. And as I did, clinging to the doorknob for dear life, I realized that there was no going back from this moment. From the way he consumed me whole, from the way he laid claim to my body and soul with nothing but his mouth and the truth in his eyes.