The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [104]
Ayla looked up at him, a slow smile showing her response. There was a time when the size of his member had frightened women, before they knew with what care and gentleness he used it. His first time with Ayla he was afraid she might be nervous, before they both understood how suited they were to each other. Sometimes Jondalar really couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Whenever he wanted her, she was ready for him. She never acted coy or disinterested. It was as if she always wanted him as much as he wanted her. He responded with a grin of such happiness and delight that in response her smile grew into the glorious manifestation that transformed her in his eyes, and those of most men, into a woman of unsurpassed beauty.
The fire in their small hearth was burning down, not yet out, but not giving much light or heat. It didn’t matter. He dropped down beside her and began to remove her clothing, first the long tunic, stopping to suck on her nipples again, before untying the thongs around her waist holding up her half-leggings. He loosened the waist ties, and pulled the leggings down, running his tongue down her stomach, dipping into her navel, then pulling them down more, uncovering her pubic hair. When the top of her slit showed, he dipped his tongue there, savoring her familiar taste and searching for the small knob. She made a small squeal of pleasure when he found it.
He pulled off her leggings, and bent down to kiss her again, then tasted milk and worked his way down and tasted her essence again. He spread her legs, opened her lovely petals, then found her swelling nodule. He knew just how to stimulate her; he suckled it and worked it with his tongue while he put his fingers inside her and found other places that stirred her senses.
She cried out, feeling jolts of fire rising through her. Almost too soon he felt a spurt of fluid, tasted her, and his urge to let himself go was so strong, he very nearly couldn’t hold back. He raised up, found her opening with his swollen manhood, and pushed in, grateful that he didn’t have to fear that he would hurt her, that she could take him all, that he fit so well.
She cried out again, and again each time he pulled out and moved in. And then he was there. With a groaning shout that he seldom expressed when others were around, he reached an intensely powerful peak and surged into her. As she heard his cries, she felt herself matching his movements, not even hearing her own sounds as the waves of sensation, matching his, flooded over her. She arched her back, pushing into him as he pushed against her. They held for a moment, shaking with the convulsions, pushing against each other as though trying to get inside each other and become one, and then they dropped down, panting to catch their breaths. He lay on top of her, the way she liked it, until he thought he must be too heavy on her and rolled over.
“I’m sorry it was so fast,” he said.
“I’m not. I was just as ready as you were, maybe more.”
They lay together for a while, then she said, “I’d like to take a quick dip in the stream.”
“You and your cold-water baths. Do you have any idea how cold that water is? Remember when we stayed with the Losadunai on our Journey here? The hot water that came out of the ground, and the wonderful hot baths they built?” Jondalar said.
“They were wonderful, but cold water makes you feel fresh and tingly. I don’t mind cold-water baths,” she said.
“And I’ve become accustomed to them. All right. Let’s build up the fire so it’s warm when we come back, and go take a cold wash, a quick cold wash.”
When glaciers covered the land not far to the north, even at the height of summer the evenings could be cool at latitudes midway between the pole and the equator. They took with them the soft chamois drying skins that had been given