The Plains of Passage (Earth's Children 4)

Ayla's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love raspberries."

"Don't you think I know it? What do I get for them?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Ayla looked up at him and, walking toward him, smiled, a big beautiful wide smile that filled her eyes and beamed her love for him, and the warmth she had been feeling, and her delight because he wanted to give her

a surprise.

"I think I just got it," he said, letting out the breath he realized he'd been holding. "Oh, Mother, you are beautiful when you smile. You're beautiful all the time, but especially when you smile."

Suddenly he was consciously aware of her, aware of every feature and detail. Her long, thick, dark blond hair, gleaming with highlights where the sun had lightened it, was held back out of her way with a thong. But it had a natural wave and loose strands that had escaped the leather binding curled around her tanned face; one fell down her forehead in front of her eyes. He restrained an urge to reach out and move it aside.

She was tall, a good match for his own six-foot, six-inch frame, and the lithe, flat, wiry muscles of real physical strength were sharply defined in her long arms and legs. She was one of the strongest women he'd ever met; as physically powerful as many men he knew. The people who had raised her were endowed with an appreciably greater bodily strength than the taller but lighter-weight people she was born to, and though Ayla was not considered particularly strong when she lived with the Clan, she had developed a far greater strength than she normally might have, just to keep up. Coupled with years of observing, tracking, and stalking as a hunter, she used her body with ease and moved with uncommon grace.

The sleeveless leather tunic she wore, belted, over leather leggings fit comfortably, but did not hide her firm, full breasts, which could have seemed heavy but didn't, or her womanly hips that curved back to her well-rounded and firm rear. The laces at the bottom of her leggings were open and she was barefoot. Around her neck was a small, beautifully embroidered and decorated leather pouch, with crane feathers along the bottom, which showed the bumps of the mysterious objects it held.

Hanging from the belt was a knife sheath made of stiff rawhide, the hide of an animal that had been cleaned and scraped but not processed in any way, so that it dried hard in whatever shape it was formed, though a good, thorough wetting could soften it again. She had tucked her sling into the right side of her belt, next to a pouch that held several stones. On the left side was a rather strange, pouchlike object. Though old and worn, it was obvious that it had been made from a whole otter skin, cured with the feet, tail, and head left on. The throat had been cut and the insides removed through the neck, then a cord was strung through slits and pulled tight to close. The flattened head became the flap. It was her medicine bag, the one she had brought with her from the Clan, the one Iza had given her.

She does not have the face of a Zelandonii woman, Jondalar was thinking; they would notice a foreign look, but her beauty was unmistakable. Her large eyes were gray-blue—the color of fine flint, he thought—and wide-spaced, outlined with lashes a shade or two darker than her hair; her eyebrows were somewhat lighter, between the two in color. Her face was heart-shaped, rather wide with high cheekbones, a well-defined jaw, and a narrow chin. Her nose was straight and finely made, and her full lips, curving up at the corners, were opened and pulled back, showing her teeth in a smile that lit up her eyes and announced her sheer pleasure in the very act of smiling.

Though her smiles and laughter had once singled her out as different, and caused her to restrain them, Jondalar loved it when she smiled, and her delight in his laughter, joking, and playfulness magically transformed the already pleasing arrangement of her features; she was even more beautiful when she smiled. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sight of her and his love for her, and silently thanked the Mother again for giving her back to him.

"What do you want me to give you for the raspberries?" Ayla said. "Tell me, and it's yours."

"I want you, Ayla," he said, his voice suddenly ragged with feeling. He put the basket down, and in an instant he had her in his arms, kissing her with fierce emotion. "I love you. I don't ever want to lose you," he said in a hoarse whisper, kissing her again.

A heady warmth rushed through her and she responded with a feeling as strong. "I love you, too," she said, "and I want you, but can I push the meat away from the fire first? I don't want it to burn while we're ... busy."

Jondalar looked at her for a moment as though he hadn't understood her words; then he relaxed, gave her a hug, and backed off a step, smiling ruefully. "I didn't mean to be so insistent. It's just that I love you so much, sometimes it's hard to hold. We can wait until later."

She was still feeling her warm, tingling response to his ardor and wasn't sure she was ready to stop, now. She regretted, a little, her comment that had interrupted the moment. "I don't have to put the meat away," she said.

Jondalar laughed. "Ayla, you are an unbelievable woman," he said, shaking his head and smiling. "Do you have any idea how remarkable you are? You're always ready for me, any time I want you. You always have been. Not just willing to go along, whether you feel like it or not, but right there, ready to interrupt anything, if that's what I want."

"But, I want you, whenever you want me."

"You don't know how unusual that is. Most women want some coaxing, and if they're in the middle of doing something, most are not willing to be interrupted."

"The women I grew up with were always ready whenever a man gave her the signal. You gave me your signal, you kissed me and let me know you wanted me."

"Maybe I'll be sorry I said this, but you can refuse, you know." His forehead wrinkled with the effort of trying to explain. "I hope you don't think you have to be ready every time I am. You aren't living with the Clan any more."

"You don't understand," Ayla said, shaking her head, trying just as hard to make him understand. "I don't think I have to be ready. When you give me your signal, I am ready. Maybe it's because that's how women of the Clan always behaved. Maybe it's because you were the one who taught me how wonderful it is to share Pleasures. Maybe it's because I love you so much, but when you give me your signal, I don't think about it, I feel it inside. Your signal, your kiss that tells me you want me, makes me want you."

He was smiling again, with relief and pleasure. "You make me ready, too. Just looking at you." He bent his head to her, and she reached up to him, molding herself against him as he pressed her tight.

He restrained the impetuous eagerness he felt, though an extraneous feeling of pleasure that he could still feel so eager for her crossed his mind. Some women he'd tired of after a single experience, but with Ayla it always seemed new. He could feel her firm strong body against his, and her arms around his neck. He slid his hands forward and held the sides of her breasts as he bent farther to kiss the curve of her neck.

Ayla removed her arms from around his neck and began to untie her belt, dropping it and all the implements attached to it to the ground. Jondalar reached under her tunic, lifting it as he found the round shapes with the hard, upright nipples. He lifted the tunic farther, exposing a dark pink areola surrounding the raised and sensitive node. Feeling the warm fullness in his hand, he touched the nipple with his tongue, then took it in his mouth and pulled in.

Tingling strings of fire raced to the place deep within as a small moan of pleasure escaped her lips. She could hardly believe how ready she was. Like the dark red mammoth, she felt as though she had been waiting all day and could hardly wait another moment. A fleeting picture of the big russet bull, with his long, curved organ, flashed through her mind. Jondalar let go, and she took hold of the neck opening of her tunic and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.

He caught his breath at seeing her, caressed her smooth skin, and reached for both full breasts. He fondled one hard nipple, squeezing and rubbing, while he suckled and pulled and nibbled on the other. Ayla felt delightful shocks of excitement, and she closed her eyes as she gave herself up to them. When he stopped the delicious caressing and nuzzling, she kept her eyes closed, and soon she felt herself being kissed. She opened her mouth to admit a gently exploring tongue. When she put her arms around his neck, she could feel the wrinkles of his leather tunic against her still sensitive nipples.

He moved his hands over the smooth skin of her back and felt the movement of her firm muscle

s. Her immediate response had added to his own ardor, and his hard, erect manhood strained against his clothing.

"Oh, woman!" he breathed. "How I want you."