The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [33]
“They are so clever, Jondalar. I would not have thought of this.”
Jondalar stretched out beside her, pleased by her delight. “You like the drape closed?”
“Oh, yes. It makes you feel alone, even if you know people are all around. Yes, I like it.” Her smile was radiant.
He pulled her down to him, and kissed her lightly. “You are so beautiful when you smile, Ayla.”
She looked at his face, suffused with love, at his compelling eyes, violet in the light of the fire instead of their usual vivid blue; at his long yellow hair disarrayed on the furs; at his strong chin and high forehead so different from the chinless jaw and receding forehead of the men of the Clan.
“Why do you cut off your beard?” she asked, touching the stubble on his jaw.
“I don’t know. I’m used to it, I guess. In summer, it’s cooler, not as itchy. I usually let it grow in winter. Helps keep the face warm when I’m outside. Don’t you like it shaved?”
She frowned in puzzlement. “It is not for me to say. A beard is a man’s, to cut or not as he pleases. I only asked because I had not ever seen a man who cut his beard before I met you. Why do you ask if I like it or not?”
“I ask, because I want to please you. If you like a beard, I’ll let it grow.”
“It does not matter. Your beard is not important. You are important. You give me please … No.” She shook her head angrily. “You give me pleases … Pleasures … you please me,” she corrected.
He grinned at her efforts, and the unintended double meaning of her word. “I would like to give you Pleasures.” He pulled her to him again, and kissed her. She snuggled down beside him, on her side. He rolled over, then sat up and looked down at her. “Like the first time,” he said. “There’s even, a donii to watch over us.” He looked at the niche with the firelit ivory carving of the motherly figure.
“It is the first time … in a place of the Others,” she said, closing her eyes, feeling both anticipation and the solemnity of the moment.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed both eyelids, then gazed for a long moment at the woman he thought more beautiful than any woman he’d ever known. There was a quality of the exotic about her. Her cheekbones were higher than Zelandonii women, her eyes more widely spaced. They were framed with thick lashes, darker than her heavy hair that was gold as autumn grass. Her jaw was firm, her chin slightly pointed.
She had a small straight scar in the hollow of her throat. He kissed it, and felt her shiver with pleasure. He moved back up and looked down at her again, then kissed the end of her fine, straight nose, and the corner of her full mouth, where it turned up in the hint of a smile.
He could feel her tension. Like a hummingbird, motionless but full of quivering excitement he couldn’t see, only sense, she was keeping her eyes closed, making herself lie still and wait. He watched her, savoring the moment, then he kissed her mouth, opened his and sought entry with his tongue, and felt her receive it. No prodding this time, only gently seeking, and then accepting hers.
He sat up, saw her open her eyes and smile at him. He pulled off his tunic, and helped her off with hers. Easing her back down, he leaned over and took a firm nipple in his mouth, and suckled. She gasped as a shock of excitement coursed through her. She felt a warm wet tingling between her legs, and wondered why Jondalar’s mouth on her nipple should make her feel sensation where he hadn’t even touched.
He nuzzled and nibbled lightly, until she pushed toward him, then sucked in earnest. She moaned with pleasure. He reached for the other breast, caressed its full roundness and turgid tip. She was already breathing hard. He let go of her breast and began to kiss her neck and throat, found her ear and nibbled on a lobe,