The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [290]
“My amulet holds a part of my spirit and my totem’s spirit. Now this donii holds a part of my spirit and your Earth Mother’s spirit. Does that make it my amulet, too?”
He hadn’t considered that. Was she part of the Mother now? One of Earth’s Children? Maybe he shouldn’t have tampered with forces beyond his ken. Or had he been an agent of them?
“I don’t know, Ayla,” he answered. “But don’t lose it.”
“Jondalar, if you thought it might be dangerous, why did you put my face on this donii?”
He took her hands that were holding the figure. “Because I wanted to capture your spirit, Ayla. Not to keep, I meant to give it back. I wanted to give you Pleasure, and I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know if you would understand; you were not raised to know Her. I thought putting your face on this might draw you to me.”
“You didn’t need to put my face on a donii for that. I would have been happy if you had just wanted to relieve your needs with me, before I knew what Pleasures were.”
He enfolded her in his arms, donii and all. “No, Ayla. You may have been ready, but I needed to understand that it was your first time, or it would not have been right.”
She was losing herself in his eyes again. His arms tightened and she gave herself up to him, until all she knew was his arms holding her, his hungry mouth on her mouth, his body against hers, and a dizzying, demanding need. She didn’t know when he swept her up and moved her away from the fireplace.
Her bed of furs reached up to accept her. She felt him fumble with the knot in her thong, then give up and simply raise her wrap. She opened herself to him eagerly, felt his rigid manhood search, and then find.
Fiercely, almost desperately, he sank his shaft deeply, as though to convince himself again that she was there for him, that he did not have to hold back. She raised to meet him, taking him in, wanting as much as he.
He drew back and plunged again, feeling the tension mount. Urged by the excitement of her total embrace, and the reckless delight of giving in entirely to the force of his passion, he rode the rising surge with furious joy. She met him at every crest, matching him thrust for thrust, arching to guide the pressure of his movement.
But the sensations she felt went beyond the push and pull within her cleft. Each time he filled her, she was conscious only of him; her body—nerves, muscles, sinews—were filled with him. He felt the pulling in his loins building, mounting, surging—then an unbearable crescendo as the pressure broke with a shuddering eruption as he bore down to fill her one last time. She rose to meet his final frantic drive, and the explosion diffused through her body with voluptuous release.
29
Ayla rolled over, not quite awake, but aware of some discomfort. The lump under her would not go away until she finally woke up to reach for it. She held up the object and, in the dim red light of a fire almost out, saw the silhouette of the donii. With a flash of recognition, the day before sprang vividly to mind, and she knew the warmth lying with her in the bed was Jondalar.
We must have fallen asleep after we made Pleasures, she thought. In a happy glow she snuggled close to him and shut her eyes. But sleep eluded her. Snatches of scenes formed patterns and textures which she sorted through with her inner sense. The hunt, and Baby’s return, and First Rites, and, overlaid on all, Jondalar. Her feelings about him were beyond any words she knew, but they filled her with inexpressible joy. She thought of him as she lay beside him, until it became too much to contain—then she quietly slipped out of bed, taking the ivory figurine with her.
She walked to the mouth of the cave and saw Whinney and Racer standing together, leaning close. The mare blew a quiet nicker of recognition and the woman veered toward them.
“Was it like that for you, Whinney?” she said in soft tones. “Did your stallion give you Pleasures? Oh, Whinney, I didn’t know it could be like that. How could it have been so terrible with Broud and so wonderful