The Mammoth Hunters (Earth's Children 3)

Then she felt under his parka and tunic for his drawstring, untied it, then reached for his hard, throbbing member and rubbed her hands along its shaft. He breathed a loud sigh of pleasure when she bent down and took him into her mouth. She felt the smoothness of his skin with her tongue, and drew him in as far as she could, then pushed him out and drew him in again, still rubbing his warm, curved shaft with her hands.

She heard him moan, start to cry out, and then take a deep breath and gently push her away. “Wait, Ayla, I want you,” he said.

“I’d have to take off my leggings and my foot-coverings for that,” she said.

“No, you don’t, it’s too cold out. Turn around, remember?”

“Like Whinney and her stallion,” Ayla whispered.

She turned around, went down on her knees. For an instant, the position reminded her not of Whinney and her eager stallion, but of Broud, of being thrown down and forced. But Jondalar’s loving touch was not the same. She lowered her waistband, baring her warm, firm backside, and an opening that beckoned to him like a flower to bees with its soft petals and deep pink throat. The invitation was almost too much. He felt a surge of pressure that ached to break loose. After a moment to hold back, he crouched up close to keep her warm while he caressed her smooth fullness, and explored her inviting pocket and ridges and folds of warm wetness and Pleasure with his gentle, knowing touch, until her cries and a new font of warmth told him to hold back no more.

Then he spread her twin mounds apart and guided his full and ready manhood into the deep and willing entrance of her womanhood with an agonizing pleasure that tore a cry from both of them. He withdrew, almost fully, and entered again, pulling her to him, and reveled in her deep embrace. Again he withdrew and entered, and again, and again, until finally in a great burst, the glorious release came.

After a few final strokes that drew out the final measure, and still deep within her warmth, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both over on their sides. He held her close, covering her with his body and his parka for a moment while they rested.

Finally they pulled apart and Jondalar sat up. The wind was picking up, and Jondalar glanced at massing clouds with apprehension.

“I should clean myself a little,” Ayla said, getting up. “These are new leggings from Deegie.”

“When we get back, you can leave them outside to freeze, and then brush it off.”

“The stream still has water …”

“It’s icy, Ayla!”

“I know. I’ll be quick.”

Testing her way on the ice, she squatted near the water, and rinsed herself with her hand. As she stepped back on the bank, Jondalar came up behind her, and dried her with the fur of his parka.

“I don’t want that to freeze,” he said, with a big grin as he patted her with the fur, and then caressed her.

“I think you’ll keep it warm enough,” she said with a smile, tying her drawstring and straightening her parka.

This was the Jondalar she loved. The man who could make her feel warm and qui very inside with a look of his eyes, or a touch of his hands; the man who knew her body better than she did, and could draw out feelings she didn’t know were there; the man who had made her forget the pain of Broud’s first forcible entry, and taught her what Pleasures were and should be. The Jondalar she loved was playful, and caring, and loving. That was how he had been in the valley, and now when they were alone. Why was he so different around the Lion Camp?

“You are getting very quick with

words, woman. I’m going to have trouble keeping up with you, in my own language!” He put his arms around her waist, and looked down at her, his eyes full of love and pride. “You are good with language, Ayla. I can’t believe how fast you learn. How do you do it?”

“I have to. This is my world now. I have no people. I am dead to the Clan, I can’t go back.”

“You could have people. You could be Ayla of the Mamutoi. If you want to be. Do you?”

“I want to be with you.”

“You can still be with me. Just because someone adopts you doesn’t mean you can’t leave … someday. We could stay here … for a while. And if something happened to me—it could, you know—it might not be so bad to have people. People who want you.”

“You mean you wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind? No, I wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you want.”

Ayla thought she detected a little hesitation, but he did seem sincere. “Jondalar, I am only Ayla. I have no people. If I am adopted, I would have someone. I would be Ayla of the Mamutoi.” She stepped back, away from him. I need to think about it.”

She turned around and walked toward the pack she had been carrying. If I’m going to leave with Jondalar soon, I shouldn’t agree, she thought. It wouldn’t be fair. But he said he’d be willing to stay. For a while. Maybe, after he lives with the Mamutoi, he’ll change his mind and want to make this his home. She wondered if she was trying to find an excuse.

She reached inside her parka for her amulet, and sent out a thought to her totem. “Cave Lion, I wish there was some way I could know what is right. I love Jondalar, but I want to belong to people of my own, too. Talut and Nezzie want to adopt me, they want to make me a daughter of the Lion … the Lion Hearth. And the Lion Camp! Oh, Great Cave Lion, have you been guiding me all along, and I just wasn’t paying attention?”

She spun around. Jondalar was still standing where she left him, silently watching her.