The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [63]
He nestled between her legs, and with his hands, opened her to look at her warm rosy flower of petals and folds. He dipped down to taste—he knew her taste and loved it—then held back no longer, and reveled in exploring her. His tongue found the familiar folds, reached into her deep well, and then reached up higher for the small, hard node.
As he worked his tongue over it, suckling and nibbling, she cried out again and again, her breath coming faster, and the surge inside building. All feeling was turned inward, there was no wind, no sun, only the rising intensity of her senses. He knew it was coming, and though he could hardly hold back himself, he slowed and backed off, hoping to draw it out, but she reached for him unable to wait. As it came closer, building, growing, tightening with anticipation, he could hear her moans of pleasure.
Suddenly it was there, the powerful shuddering waves seizing her, then with a convulsive cry, crashing over her. She burst with the spasm of release, and with it came the indescribable desire to feel his manhood inside her. She reached for him, trying to bring him to her.
He felt her spurt of wetness and, sensing her need for him, raised up, clasping his eager shaft to guide it into her deep and welcoming well. She felt him enter and raised up to meet him as he plunged in. The embrace of her warm folds encircled him, and he penetrated deeply, feeling no fear that his size was more than she could hold. That was part of the wonder of her, that she matched him.
He pulled out, feeling the exquisite pleasure of the movement, and with complete abandon, plunged in again, deeply, while she raised up tight against him. He almost reached his peak, but the intensity backed down, and he pulled out again, then pushed in again, and again, and again, with each stroke building higher. Pulsing with the sensations of his movement, she felt the fullness of him, then his drawing back and filling her again, and was beyond feeling anything else.
She heard his strong breathing, and her own, as their cries mingled. Then he cried out her name, she rose to meet him, and, with a great overflowing burst, they felt a release that matched the fiery sun in its glowing flame as it shot its last bright rays into the valley, and dropped behind the dark and rolling clouds, outlined in burnished gold.
After a few more strokes, he relaxed on top of her, feeling her rounded curves beneath him. She always loved that moment with him, the feeling of his weight on her. He never felt heavy; it was just a comfortable pressure and a closeness that warmed her while they rested.
Suddenly a warm tongue was licking her face, and a cold nose was exploring their closeness. “Go away, Wolf,” she said, shoving the animal away. “Go on, get out of here.”
“Wolf, go away!” Jondalar said harshly, adding his command, and pushing the cold wet nose away, but the mood was broken. As he lifted off Ayla and rolled to his side, he felt a trifle annoyed, but he couldn’t really be angry; he felt too wonderful for that.
Getting up on one elbow, Jondalar looked at the animal that had backed off a few paces and was sitting on his haunches watching them with his tongue hanging out, panting. He could have sworn the animal was grinning at them, and he smiled wryly at the woman he loved. “You’ve been getting him to stay. Do you think you’ll be able to teach him to go when you want him to?”
“I think I’m going to try.”
“It’s a lot of work, having a wolf around,” Jondalar said.
“Well, yes, it takes a little effort, especially since he’s so young. So do the horses, but it’s worth it. I like having them around. They are like very special friends.”
At least, the man thought, the horses gave something