Christopher's Medal

by S. A. Laybourn

  “Do you have a messenger type thing?”

  “Yes. I haven’t used it for ages, but I do have it.”

  “Good, if I can get my hands on the welfare laptop, we can chat.”

  “It hadn’t even occurred to me. There was me thinking I’d be spending my mornings watching for the postman.” She looked at him. “How is it that you know your way around my computer yet you had me put my phone numbers on your mobile?”

  “It was a new phone and I liked the idea of you touching it. Does that sound creepy?”

  “A little, yes, in a romantic kind of way. You’ll have computers?”

  “At the main base, and we’ll have use of a welfare laptop when we’re out in the sticks. It won’t be quite the same as being here and it’ll be bloody difficult talking to you and not being able to hold you.” He kissed her hair. “But it’s something.”

  Grace wiped her eyes. “It’ll be hard.” She couldn’t trust herself to speak above a whisper.

  “Grace.” His voice was hoarse. “Darling, I know you’re trying to be brave. It’s all right. You don’t have to be stoic on my account. I’m the one who’s supposed to be the big brave soldier. It won’t be a picnic and all I want is to get through it all in one piece and come back to you.

  “If it’s all right, can I keep my car here? I hate to think of it sitting around in London gathering dust. At least if it’s here, you can take it for a run now and again to keep it going.” He grinned. “I know you’ve been dying to get your hands on it.”

  “It is nice, and flashy. I promise I won’t take it on the motorway at midnight and thrash along at full speed.”

  “No, you will not.” He tweaked her ear and smiled. “I’ve changed the insurance to include you so behave yourself.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “I’ve got some personal bits and pieces, clothes, books, that sort of thing. I don’t want to leave them in London while I’m gone. I’m going to box them up and have them shipped here. Is that all right?”

  “Yes.” There was something comforting about having his belongings stowed in her house, a reason for him to return. “Provided you’re not sending a whole lorry load, there’s nothing much in the spare room.”

  “I’ll leave my toothbrush too.”

  Grace managed a smile. “You’ll have to come back…to claim it.”

  “That’s the idea.” His mouth covered hers.

  * * * *

  “What do you think?” Christopher stood in the middle of the living room of the old mill cottage. Behind him, a picture window looked down onto the village and beyond, to a broad crescent of sand and the Irish Sea.

  “It’s beautiful.” Grace gazed out of the window at the brilliant late September sun glancing off the deep blue water of the bay.

  “It is, isn’t it?” The room was divided from a steep staircase by a huge bookshelf. “We have a choice of bedrooms.” He picked up their bags. “Let’s pick one out.”

  She followed him up the stairs, lit by a skylight, which cast soft, golden light onto the wooden banisters and the worn beige carpet. He paused on the landing and set the bags down. “We want the biggest, bounciest bed, one with tough springs.”

  Grace giggled. “Dirty bugger.”

  “You love it.” He grabbed her by the waist. “Don’t play the prude with me, Gracey. You just can’t keep your hands off me, admit it.”

  “It has to be this room,” she declared, opening the door to a bright room, flushed gold with afternoon sunlight. “Look at that view.” She stood in front of the window and studied the view. The sun was sliding to the west, tinting the rooftops with pale gold light.

  Christopher stood behind her. “It is nice.”

  She leaned back against him when he put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. How the hell am I going to get by without him? How do I deal with this? “What’s the bed like?”

  “Dunno, haven’t tried it yet.” He moved his hands lower, gliding between her thighs. “Fancy giving it a test drive?”

  Grace shivered at his touch. “Is sex all you can think about, Christopher Beaumont?”

  His breath was warm on her throat. “More or less. It’s your fault. You’ve made me this way.”

  She turned in his arms and placed her hands on either side of his face. “It works both ways, mister. I was an innocent country girl until you came along.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment.” Christopher brushed his fingers over her breasts.

  Her nipples hardened at his touch. Every nerve begged for attention. “It’s true. Did I have condoms handy when you decided to jump my bones that first night?”

  Christopher’s cheeks colored becomingly. “Fair point.” He lifted the hem of her shirt.

  Grace bit her bottom lip in an attempt to keep herself from wrenching his clothes off. It didn’t seem the right time to be rushing things. Not with his departure looming. It seemed appropriate to savor every moment. Instead, she edged her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, concealing a smile when he trembled at her touch.

  “Ah…Grace. Yes.” He guided her lower, fumbling with his flies until they fell open.

  She ran her forefinger over the already moist tip of his cock and was rewarded by Christopher’s sharp intake of breath. He returned the gesture, making her gasp when he unfastened her trousers and reached beneath her panties. “I think these need to come off.”

  Grace stepped back. “You first.”

  He glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should move away from the window. I’m not sure I’m up to giving everyone a free show.”

  “Oh, God.” Grace giggled. “Quick, pull the curtains!” She retreated toward the bed, shedding clothes in her wake.

  Christopher drew the curtains as Grace settled onto the mattress. The linen smelled of sunlight and sea. She watched as Christopher undressed hurriedly before he reached into his suitcase and pulled a handful of condoms from a side pocket. “I could look at you all day,” he whispered as he joined her. The bed dipped under his weight, drawing Grace close. “But then we’d be wasting time that would be better spent doing this.” He covered her mouth with his.

  Grace edged beneath him, wanting his weight and his heat. She parted her legs so that he could move between them. He slipped into her with obvious care, pausing only to kiss her once more—a long, breath-stealing kiss that left her scraping her fingers uselessly over his skin. He filled her, stretching her, making her ache in a way that only he could. The bed linen sighed beneath them, a church bell, chimes muffled by the window, marked the time. Christopher’s breaths quickened. He nipped at her throat and growled softly.

  Grace recovered enough of herself to pull him closer. She wrapped her legs around him, forcing him deeper, wanting him to remain there. Her pussy absorbed his length, surrounded it. She felt every subtle shift, every threatened withdrawal as he drove in and out, in and out, drawing them both into the relentless rhythm. Grace’s body ignored her wishes, heat spiraled to her core. She felt Christopher’s cock thicken and pulse and the muted heat of his seed. It was enough. She gripped him, pushed upwards and rode the moment until everything fell apart in a wave of heat and light that engulfed them both.

  * * * *

  They walked down to the beach to watch the sunset.

  “We have to do it,” Christopher said. “We can’t drive all this way and not sit on the beach and watch the sunset with a bottle of wine.”

  “And plastic cups.” Grace shivered as the wind swirled across the sand. “We must be mad. It’s freezing.”

  “That’s why I brought the blanket.”

  She watched him while he searched for a place to sit, between a scatter of black boulders on the edge of the sand. The breeze tugged at his hair and the setting sun found fire in it. It’s going to be so bloody hard. “You look like a dog trying to get comfortable in its basket.”

  He held out his hand. “Here, we’ll be out of the worst of the wind.”

  She took it
and he pulled her down onto the sand. He sat behind her and wrapped the blanket around them both. Grace settled against him and felt the slow, even thud of his heart at her back. She closed her eyes when he rested his chin on her shoulder. Seagulls wheeled overhead, fighting the wind. A few gulls ran across the sand, chasing the lacy edges of receding waves.

  “This is very nice,” he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek.

  “Yes, it’s lovely.” She sipped her wine. It tasted of green apples.

  They sat in silence for a while. Grace watched the gulls swoop overhead, caught in the wind.

  “Grace…can I ask you something?” He sounded thoughtful.

  “Yes.”

  “The job that you do…why do you do it?”

  “Because my history degree was useless for anything and because Dad wanted me to learn the ropes and help him. He says that when he retires, he wants me to take over…if I want to.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I didn’t at first. I wanted to be a teacher, but then I realized that if I was going to teach history to the level I wanted to, I’d have to teach secondary school. After seeing Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, I didn’t fancy that idea much. So, I took up Dad’s offer, as a stopgap until something else came along. It never did and in the meantime I decided that I liked working in racing.” She sighed. “It must be a masochistic streak in me.”

  He laughed, softly.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I was just wondering. I’ve been thinking. By the time my tour is over, I’ll have been with the army for eight years. When I get back I’m going to resign my commission. I want to live a normal life.”

  “I can’t blame you for that.” Grace reached back and stroked his cheek. “Why did you join the army anyway?”

  “I didn’t really have a lot of choice. It’s the Beaumont family vice, all the way back to the Boer War, always the Grenadier Guards. So, I did my degree, in the equally useless subject of English lit and then went to Sandhurst.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Marry you.” His fingers trailed along her jaw. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  Grace twisted in his arms to look at him.

  “Will you marry me, Grace? Take me under your wing and look after me in my old age?”

  “You’re thirty, so you’re hardly in your dotage.” She put her finger on his lips and wanted to cry. “But, yes, I’ll marry you, I’ll take you under my wing and I’ll look after you in your old age.” The wind chilled the tears on her cheeks. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d love more.”

  “Thank Christ for that.” He kissed her. “You won’t regret it, Gracey. I’m house-trained and everything. I’ll wash the dishes and put the toilet seat down.”

  She laughed and dashed her tears away with her fist. “How could I possibly say no?”

  “I’ve even got a ring.” He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. “I hope it fits. I had to guess. I have no idea about these things.” He opened the lid and held it out to her. “Is it all right, Grace? Do you like it?”

  Grace looked at the sapphire, square cut and framed with tiny chips of diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, touching it with a cautious finger. The diamonds caught the rosy light of the setting sun and glittered with a fire of their own.

  He took the ring and placed it on her finger. “And it fits.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” The tears started again. The ring looked strange and beautiful on her hand.

  “Just tell me that you love me, Gracey.” His voice was hoarse.

  “I do love you. I love you so much that you make me want to cry. I love you so much that I can’t bear to watch you walk away. I want to keep you near and protect you from everything. I don’t care if you leave the toilet seat up or leave dirty dishes in the sink. Hell, I’d love you even if you decided to switch from boxers to Y-fronts. Of course I love you and I always will.” She gave in to her tears and let him gather her up. He rocked her like a child and she clung to him, weeping because she loved him and weeping because she was terrified.

  “Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.”

  She glanced at him. His eyes were bright. Something glinted on his lashes. Grace reached up, brushed the tears with her thumb and stopped crying. “I’m sorry. It’s my hormones, it must be.”

  “Silly girl,” he soothed. “I’d never wear Y-fronts.”

  Grace managed a shaky laugh. “Thank God for that. Just the thought of them makes me shudder.”

  “Anyway, it’s not like I get a chance to keep my underwear on when I’m around you anyway. You’re insatiable.”

  “Toad.”

  “Honestly, Grace, I’ve never wanted anyone as constantly as I want you. I just can’t get enough of you.” His lips were warm on her throat. “If we weren’t sitting on a public beach in a howling gale, I’d…”

  She shivered when his hands, concealed by the blanket, drifted to her breasts. “I know you would.” She slid her hand along his thigh and smiled when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Minx,” he whispered. “What the hell am I going to do for six months?”

  “Bromide and cold showers.”

  “Darling, if we’re in an FOB, there won’t be showers. It’ll be buckets of cold water. I’ll be longing for you to keep me warm.”

  “But, just think, when you come back…we’ll have all the time in the world to make up for those six months.”

  “Bliss.” His sigh ruffled her hair. “Will your father give you six months’ holiday?”

  Grace giggled. “No way.” The prospect of six months exclusively in Christopher’s company had the feel of an impossible dream. “But I’ll settle for a lifetime of nights with you.”

  His voice was a purr as he nibbled her ear. “Oh, God, yes please. Can we go back to the cottage now, please?”

  * * * *

  “I’m going to miss this place,” Grace sighed and crawled beneath the duvet. Outside, a gale hurled rain against the windows. It seemed a fitting way to end the holiday, with an autumn storm driving in off the sea.

  “So am I.”

  She curled up against Christopher, not wanting to sleep.

  “Will you come and see us off, Gracey?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When we leave. I’ll let you know what time. Everyone gets one last chance to say goodbye at the barracks before we get on the bus.”

  “Just try and stop me.”

  “My family will be there too, so it won’t be so bad for you.”

  It will be horrible, no matter who’s there. “That would be a big help.” Grace put her hand to his face and wanted to remember every touch, the way his early-morning stubble felt beneath her fingers, his breath in her hair. Her throat hurt, but she swallowed the knot away. She had a ring that was his promise to her that he would come back. That there would be so many mornings huddled together under the lemon-yellow duvet in her bedroom, drowsy with love.

  “There’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mark.”

  “What about Mark?”

  “Will you visit him? Will you keep in touch with him? He’s so up and down these days. We’re the only people who bother with him. Take him out for lunch now and then, phone him, email him…anything. I don’t want him to think he’s on his own.”

  They’d been to visit Mark a few times since the wedding. “I can do that.” She liked the idea of keeping in touch with him. He was another link to Christopher, one who was close at hand, who’d know what Christopher was going through.

  “Thank you, darling.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind. It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the yard.” Grace shifted beside him, seeking his warmth.

  “Ah, Grace, you feel so good.” His arm tightened around her.

  “So do you.”

  “This is where we say our real goodbyes.” He kissed
her, softly, slowly.

  “Yes.” Grace held him close when he shifted onto her, pressing her down into the tumbled bedclothes. His need for her was evident, burning between her legs. She pushed aside her fears and sorrow as her body responded to his heat and his careful touches. Christopher teased her with his fingers, wriggling them into her slit, moving them around until Grace shuddered with each touch. Whimpers escaped her throat when he reduced her to a needy mess with every glide of his hand. He ground his palm onto her mound, clutching it while she reached for his cock. She wrapped her fingers around it, loving the heat beneath the soft skin.

  Christopher trembled and groaned when she pumped his shaft. She punctuated each careful stroke with a swipe of her thumb over the tip, spreading the pre-cum around. Meanwhile, he worked her relentlessly until she eased his hand away from her core and guided his dick toward her pussy where it belonged.

  He slid into her, moving slowly, following a distant timeless tempo that she answered with her own, matching him thrust for thrust, counting the breaths, listening to the wind rattling the windowpanes. The world diminished to the room, the bed, to Christopher’s sighs and the reverent sweep of his hands over her skin. She felt every glide, heard the whisper of his body meeting hers. She wanted to remember everything, from the way her core absorbed him, to every slow incursion. This was the stuff of romance, the books she used to read. This was what it was all supposed to be. She didn’t need words. She knew they were meant to be together. The ring was just a symbol, this was what was real.

  Grace felt him grow inside her, filling her—her pussy accommodated each push, demanding to be filled. Every nerve end screamed for resolution but she bit her lip and drew the moments out, wanting them to last forever.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his voice tight.

  “I love you too.” She brushed the hair from his forehead and touched his cheek.

  Christopher turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm. Grace nearly wept at the gesture. She drew him close, feeling the need rise to boiling point. He quickened and moaned, dropping his head when he came. Grace followed, holding him tight, wanting him to remain inside her forever, and knowing it could never be.