The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

Her ears heard, but she was too lost in the eyes that held her, too moved by her body’s response, to notice his words. She saw him bend closer, then put his mouth on hers, and she felt him put his arms around her and draw her close.

“Jondalar,” she breathed. “I like that … mouth on mouth.”

“Kiss,” he said. “I think it’s time, Ayla.” He took her hand and led her toward the sleeping furs.

“Time?”

“First Rites,” he said.

They sat down on the furs. “What kind of ceremony is it?”

“It is the ceremony that makes a woman. I can’t tell you all about it. The older women tell a girl what to expect and that it may hurt, but that it is necessary to open the passage for her to become a woman. They choose the man for it. Men want to be chosen, but some are afraid.”

“Why are they afraid?”

“They’re afraid they will hurt a woman, afraid they will be clumsy, afraid they won’t be able, that their woman-maker won’t rise.”

“That means a man’s organ? It has so many names.”

He thought of all the names, many vulgar or humorous. “Yes, it has many names.”

“What is the real name?”

“Manhood, I guess,” he said after a moment’s thought, “the same as for a man, but ‘woman-maker’ is another.”

“What happens if the manhood won’t rise?”

“Another man has to be brought in—it’s very embarrassing. But most men want to be chosen for a woman’s first time.”

“Do you like being chosen?”

“Yes.”

“Are you chosen often?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jondalar smiled and wondered if all her questions were the result of curiosity or nervousness. “I think because I like it. A woman’s first time is special to me.”

“Jondalar, how can we have a ceremony of First Rites? I am past my first time, I am already open.”

“I know, but there is more to First Rites than just opening.”

“I don’t understand. What more can there be?”

He smiled again, then leaned closer and put his mouth on hers. She leaned toward him, but was startled when his mouth opened and she felt his tongue try to reach inside her mouth. She backed off.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Don’t you like it?” His forehead creased with consternation.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to try again and see?” Slow down, he said to himself. Don’t rush this. “Why don’t you lie back and relax?”

He pushed her with gentle pressure, then stretched out beside her, resting on one elbow. He looked down at her, then put his mouth on hers again. He waited until her tension was gone, then lightly flicked his tongue along her lips. He lifted up and saw her mouth smiling and her eyes closed. When she opened them, he bent to kiss her again. She strained to reach him. He kissed with more pressure, and an open mouth. When his tongue sought entrance, she opened her mouth to receive it.

“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.”