The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [283]
“Yes,” she said. “I think I like it.”
Jondalar grinned. She was questioning, tasting, testing, and he was pleased she had not found him wanting.
“What now?” she asked.
“More of the same?”
“All right.”
He kissed her again, gently exploring her lips, and the roof of her mouth, and under her tongue. Then his lips traced her jaw. He found her ear, breathed his warm breath in it, nibbled her lobe, and then covered her throat with kisses and his questing tongue. Then he returned to her mouth again.
“Why does that make me feel like a fever, and shivers?” she said. “Not like a sickness, nice shivers.”
“You don’t have to be a medicine woman now, it’s not a sickness,” he said. Then after a moment, “If you’re warm, why don’t you open your wrap, Ayla?”
“That’s all right. I’m not that warm.”
“Would you mind if I open your wrap?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” He kissed her again, trying to undo the knot in the thong that held her wrap closed. He was not successful and expected more discussion from her about it.
“I’ll open it,” she whispered, when he lifted his mouth from hers. Deftly, she untied the knot, then arched up to unwind the thong. The leather wrap fell away, and Jondalar caught his breath.
“Oh, woman!” His voice was husky with need, and his loins tightened. “Ayla, O Doni, what a woman!” He kissed her open mouth fiercely, then buried his face in her neck and sucked warmth to the surface. Breathing hard, he backed off and saw the red mark he had made. He took a deep breath, reaching for control.
“Is anything wrong?” Ayla asked, with a worried frown.
“Only that I want you too much. I want to make it right for you, but I don’t know if I can. You are … so beautiful, so much woman.”
Her frown smoothed to a smile. “Whatever you do will be right, Jondalar.”
He kissed her again, more gently, wanting more than ever to give her Pleasure. He caressed the side of her body, feeling the fullness of her breast, the dip of her waist, the smooth curve of her hip, the taut muscle of her thigh. She quivered under his touch. His hand brushed the golden curls of her mound, and across her stomach to the turgid swelling of her breast, and felt her nipple harden in his palm. He kissed the tiny scar at the base of her throat; then he sought the other breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth.
“It doesn’t feel the same as a baby,” she said.
It broke the tension. Jondalar sat up, laughing. “You are not supposed to be analyzing this, Ayla.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel the same as when a baby sucks and I don’t know why. I don’t know why a man wants to suckle like a baby at all,” she said, feeling a bit defensive.
“Don’t you want me to? I won’t if you don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say I don’t like it. It feels good when a baby sucks. It doesn’t feel the same when you do it, but it feels good. I feel it all the way down inside me. A baby doesn’t make you feel that way inside.”
“That’s why a man does it, to make a woman feel that way, and to make himself feel that way. That’s why I want to touch you, to give you Pleasure, and me too. It is the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure to Her children. She created us to know this Pleasure, and we honor Her when we accept Her Gift. Will you let me give you Pleasure, Ayla?”
He was looking at her. Her golden hair, tousled on the fur, framed her face. Her dilated eyes, deep and soft, glowed with hidden fire, and seemed full, as though they might spill over. Her mouth trembled when she opened it to answer; she nodded instead.
He kissed one eye closed, and then the other, and saw a tear. He tasted the salty drop with the tip of his tongue. She opened her eyes and smiled. He kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth, then each nipple. Then he got up.
She watched him walk to the hearth and move the spitted