The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [288]
“Wolf, I think this is one night the sky can do without me,” she said. “I’m starting to see things that aren’t there. And look! The moon is already up, and I missed its rising. I’m not doing any good out here tonight anyway.”
She thought about lighting a torch, but decided against taking the time to make a fire—the moon was bright enough. She picked her way carefully down the path by the light of the moon and stars with Wolf leading the way. She glanced back once more at the rock. It still seems to glow, she thought. Maybe I’ve been looking at the sun too much. Zelandoni did warn me to be careful.
It was much darker inside, but she could see by the reflection from the roof of the abri of a large communal fire that had been lit earlier in the evening and was still burning. Ayla entered her dwelling quietly. Everyone seemed to be sleeping, but a small lamp gave off a dim light. They often lit one for Jonayla. It took her longer to fall asleep when it was pitch dark. The lichen wick soaking in the melted fat burned for quite a while, and it had often served Ayla well when she came home late at night. She looked beyond the partition into the room where Jondalar was sleeping. Jonayla had crept in beside him again. She smiled at them, and started toward Jonayla’s bed, not wanting to disturb them. Then she stopped and shaking her head, went to their bed.
“Is that you, Ayla?” Jondalar said sleepily. “Is it morning already?”
“No, Jondalar. I came in early tonight,” she said as she picked up the tow-headed child and put her in her own bed. She tucked her in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then she went back to the bed she shared with Jondalar. When she got there, Jondalar was awake, propped up on one elbow.
“Why did you decide to come in early?”
“I couldn’t seem to concentrate.” She smiled at him sensuously, and removed her clothes, then crawled in beside him. The place was still warm from her sleeping daughter. “Do you remember that you once told me that anytime I wanted you, all I had to do was this?” she said as she gave him a long loving kiss.
He was quick to respond. “It’s still true,” he said, his voice gruff with his quickened desire. The nights had been long and lonely for him, too. Jonayla was cute and cuddly, and he loved her, but she was a little girl, and his mate’s daughter, not his mate. Not the woman who aroused his passion and, until recently, had satisfied it so well.
He reached for her hungrily, kissing her mouth and her neck and then her body with starved ardor. She was equally hungry, equally ardent, and reached for his body in almost desperate need. He kissed her again, slowly, felt the inside of her mouth with his tongue, then her neck, and reached for her breast with his hand, then took the nipple into his mouth. She felt delicious jolts of pleasure race through her. It had been a long time since they had taken the time to explore the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure.
He suckled one nipple, then the other, and caressed her breasts. She felt sensations that reached deep inside in the place that ached for him. He placed a hand on her stomach and massaged it gently. There was a softness to it that he liked, a slight roundness that made her seem even more womanly, if that was possible. She felt as though she were melting into a pool of delight, as his hand reached for the soft fur of her mound and then put a finger at the top of her slit, and began to draw circles inside. When he reached the spot that sent bolts of shudders through her, she moaned and arched into them.
He went lower, found the entrance to her warm, wet cave and reached inside. She spread her legs to give him more access. He got up and moved between them, then lowered himself and tasted her. That was the taste he knew, the taste of Ayla that he loved. With both hands he spread her petals wide and licked her with his warm tongue, explored her clefts and crevices until he found the nodule that had hardened