Finally, I can’t stand it anymore, and I glance over my shoulder quickly to make sure she is all right.
Beh stands in the lake with the water coming up to her knees. She is bent over and rinsing her arms in the cool water with her long hair lying in strands across her back. Some of it falls over her shoulders, and the tips touch the water.
I swallow hard, and I have no idea why she didn’t want me to see her before. There is nothing wrong with her, nothing at all. In fact, everything is right with her. Her legs are long, and I can clearly see the firmness of the muscles in her thighs. Above them her hips curve out sensually before her waist draws my eyes back in again. Her spine is straight, and she is absolutely, positively glorious.
When I first saw her, I thought I had never seen a more beautiful woman, and that was when she was wearing those weird clothes. Now that she is standing there with her back to me, leaning over...
I have to swallow again. I’m suddenly very hard and very much want to try to put a baby inside of my mate. It’s far more intense than the physical feeling I know I will have when I am inside of her. I want to see her stomach get round and know the child inside of her is one I put there. I want her to give birth to a baby that looks like her and me.
I don’t just want it. I need it.
As much as I need water and food and shelter, I need to be inside of her—I need to give her a baby. My hands shake with the very thought of it, and my legs coil under me, ready to stand and go to her, to take her right now.
Then she turns, and our eyes meet.
I know immediately that she is not happy.
Not in the least.
I turn away quickly, cover my face with my hands, and close my eyes tightly at the same time. I can hear her loud sounds behind me though she doesn’t sound as angry as she was before. I hear more splashing, more sounds from her mouth—including my name-sound—and the rustle of her strange clothing, but I do not turn around to look.
I will have to save my other thoughts and ideas for later when we are in our furs. For one reason, my erection completely disappeared when she looked at me like that; for another, I don’t think she would be very receptive right now anyway.
Beh is angry, and I don’t want her to be angry with me.
I hear the crunching sound of her feet on the rocks, followed by her hand on my shoulder.
“Ehd?”
I look up at her tentatively, and I’m glad to see her looking down at me without anger. There actually appears to be just the hint of a smile on her lips. I smile back—just a little—and slowly get to my feet. Beh shakes her head back and forth slowly as she makes more sounds.
I reach out with one hand, and she makes no move to stop me as I place it against her cheek. Her hair is wet now, and drops of cold water cascade down my arm. I move toward her, and her eyes drop to the ground as I gently brush my nose on her cheek. I don’t want to push my luck, though, since I did not do what she wanted, and I know she is still not happy with me, so I drop my hand and step back.
Beh sits by the edge of the water while I pick up the fur-covered fish, unwrap them, and attach them with sinew, tied to the leather straps that hold my water skins. I quickly rinse out my fur wrap in the lake. The weather is not too cold, and I don’t want to wear the fur again now that it is wet, so I tie it at my hip instead. With fish hanging on one hip and my fur on the other, I check the sky to see how late it is and go to Beh.
She is sitting on a rock with a small stick in her hand, slowly pulling snarls out of her hair. She’s looking out over the lake, and I’m not even sure she realizes I am ready to leave now. I start toward her with the intent of leading her back to the cave, but the motion of her fingers, the stick, and her hair captivate me.
I have never seen anyone use a stick in such a way, and I instantly touch my own thick and matted hair. I recall women in my tribe using their fingers to sometimes pull out knots, but never a stick.
Beh lifts her hand to the top of her head, and she inserts the stick between two strands. She pulls down slowly, pausing a few times as the little branch gets stuck. I stare at her, mesmerized by the movement of her arms, fingers, and the flowing strands of her hair. She repeats the act over and over again, and the rhythm is strangely soothing.
Strange—like everything about her.
My mate.
My Beh.
She turns her head turns toward me, and I see a smile on her lips as they open, and more sounds come out. I take the last few steps that will bring me to her side and crouch down next to her, watching her movements closely. By the time her hair has dried, it is smooth and tangle free again. I reach up and touch the ends slowly and then brush my fingers through them, watching her face to make sure she doesn’t mind me touching her.