He felt the young horse tiring, and, hearing other hoof-beats, opened his eyes to see Ayla and Whinney racing beside him. He smiled his wonder and delight at her, and the smile she returned made his heart pound faster. Everything else faded to insignificance for the moment. Jondalar's entire world was an unforgettable ride on the back of a racing stallion and the achingly beautiful smile on the face of the woman he loved.
Racer finally slowed, then drew to a halt. Jondalar jumped off. The young horse stood with his head hanging down almost to the ground, feet spread apart, sides heaving as he breathed hard. Whinney pulled up and Ayla jumped down. She took some pieces of soft leather out of the haversack, gave one to Jondalar, to rub down the sweaty animal, then she did the same for Whinney. The two exhausted horses crowded close together, leaning on each other for reassurance.
"Ayla, as long as I live, I'll never forget that ride," Jondalar said.
He hadn't been so relaxed for a long time, and she felt his excitement. They looked at each other, smiled, laughed, sharing the wonder of the moment. Without thinking, she reached up to kiss him, he started to respond, then suddenly, he remembered Ranec. He stiffened, withdrew her arms from around his neck.
"Don't play with me, Ayla," he said, his voice hoarse with control, as he pushed her away.
"Play with you?" she said, hurt filling her eyes.
Jondalar closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, shook with the strain of trying to maintain control. Then, suddenly, like an ice dam bursting, it was too much. He grabbed her, kissed her; a hard, mouth-bruising, desperate kiss. The next instant she was on the ground, his hands beneath her tunic, tearing at her drawstring.
She tried to help him, to untie it for him, but he couldn't wait. Impatiently, he grabbed at the waist of her soft leather leggings with both hands, and with the strength of denied passion that could be denied no more, she heard the ripping as he tore out the seams. He fumbled with the opening to his own trousers, then he was on top of her, wild in his frenzy, as his hard, throbbing shaft probed and searched.
She reached down to help guide him, feeling her own excitement mount as she realized what he so desperately wanted. But what was driving him to such ardent fury? What caused this craving need? Couldn't he see that she was ready for him? She had been ready for him the whole winter. There was never a time that she wasn't ready for him. As though her body itself had been trained from childhood to respond to his need, his signal, he had only to want her for her to want him. That was all she had been waiting for. Tears of need and love were in her eyes; she had waited so long for him to want her again.
With a passion as much denied as his, she opened to him, welcomed him, gave to him what he thought he was taking. She thrilled to the sensation of his long, hard member seeking her depths, filling her. He pulled back, and she hungered for him to return, to fill her again. She pushed to meet him when he did, pushed herself against his warm shaft, and felt the feeling deep inside tingle and grow. She arched her back to feel his movement, to press her place of Pleasure against him, to meet him again.
He cried out with the unbelievable joy of her. He had felt that way from the first time. They fit together, matched each other, her depth for his size, as though she was made for him, and he for her. O Mother. O Doni, how he had missed her. How he had wanted her. How he loved her. He drove in, felt the warm, wet caress of her enfold him, take him in, reach for more, until his full shaft was buried within her.
Deep surges of Pleasure washed over him, coming in waves that matched his movements. He dove in again, and again, as she reached for him, hungered for him, ached for him. With wild abandon, with no restraint, he came back, and back to her, faster and faster, and she met him every time, felt her tension grow with his, until the peak, the crest, the last wave of Pleasure broke over them both.
He rested on top of her, in the middle of the open steppes just burgeoning with new life. Then suddenly he clutched her, buried his head in her neck, and cried her name. "Ayla, oh, my Ayla, my Ayla."
He kissed her neck, kissed her throat, kissed her mouth, then kissed a closed eye. Then he stopped, as abruptly as he began. He pulled up and looked down at her.
"You're crying! I've hurt you! O Great Mother, what have I done?" he said. He jumped up and looked down at her, lying on the bare ground, her clothes torn. "Doni. O Doni, what have I done? I forced her. How could I do such a thing? To her, who only knew this pain in the beginning. Now I have done it to her. O Doni! O Mother! How could you let me do it?"
"No, Jondalar!" Ayla said, sitting up. "It's all right. You didn't hurt me."
But he wouldn't hear her. He turned his back, not able to look at her, and covered himself. He could not turn back. He walked away, angry at himself, filled with shame, and remorse. If he couldn't trust himself not to hurt her, he would have to stay away from her, and make sure she stayed away from him. She is right to choose Ranec, he thought. I don't deserve her. He heard her get up and go to the horses. Then he heard her walking toward him, and felt her hand on his arm.
"Jondalar, you didn't…"
He spun around. "Stay away from me!" he snarled, full of guilty anger at himself.
She backed off. What had she done wrong now? "Jondalar…?" she said again, taking a step toward him.
"Stay away from me! Didn't you hear me? If you don't stay away from me, I may lose control and force you again!" It came out sounding like a threat.
"You didn't force me, Jondalar," she said as he turned and strode off. "You cannot force me. There is no time I am not ready for you…"
But his thoughts were so full of remorse and self-loathing he didn't hear her.
He kept walking, back toward the Lion Camp. She watched him go for some time, trying to sort out her confusion. Then she went back for the horses. She took Racer's lead rope in her hand, and holding on to Whinney's stand-up mane, mounted the mare, and quickly caught up to Jondalar.
"You're not going to walk all the way back, are you?" she said.
He didn't answer at first, didn't even turn around to look at her. If she thought he was going to ride double with her again… he thought, as she pulled up along side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was leading the young stallion behind her, and he finally turned to face her.
He looked at her with tenderness and yearning. She seemed more appealing, more desirable, and he loved her more than ever, now that he was sure he'd spoiled it all. She ached to be near him, to tell him how wonderful it had been, how full and complete she felt, how she loved him. But he had been so angry, and she was so confused, she didn't know what to say.
They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each other, but their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of misunderstanding, and the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.
27
"I think you should ride back on Racer," Ayla said. "It's a long way to walk."
A long way, he thought. How long had he walked from his home? But he nodded, and followed her to a rock beside a small creek. Racer wasn't used to having riders. It was still better to ease on him gently. The stallion's ears went back, and he pranced a few skittish steps, but he settled down quickly and followed behind his dam as he had done many times before.