Christopher's Medal by S.A. Laybourn

her fingers, across his back and down to his waist. She whimpered when he drove into her with long, slow strokes and every move brought her closer to deliverance, to release. She wanted to absorb him, to keep him close. Grace loved him with a fire she hadn’t known she owned. She hid her face in his neck when she came, muffling her cries against his skin. His scent, his real scent beneath the cologne, overwhelmed her.
    “Oh God, Grace.” Christopher grabbed fistfuls of her hair before he delivered one, final quivering push and tumbled into her arms.
    Grace held him while he rested against her. His heart hammered against her breast. She stroked his hair and his face while his breathing slowed. His eyes were closed and his lashes cast crescent shadows on his cheeks. She would’ve happily remained that way forever, limbs entwined with his, her blood singing as she found her refuge in him.
    After a few moments, Christopher shifted against her and rested his head on her shoulder. “Did you not think to ask why I want to be in your world?”
    Grace took a deep breath and tried to read his face. His hair tumbled over his forehead and his lips were parted in anticipation of another kiss.
    “All right, why do you want to be here?” She braced herself for the answer, half afraid, half hopeful.
    “Because I love you.” His lips brushed hers. “Because I love you, Gracey Webb.”
    “You do? You love me?” Grace touched his lips with her forefinger, traced the soft pillow of his bottom lip.
    “Oh yes.” Christopher’s hand moved through her hair. “Very much.”
    Grace searched his face once more. All those nights really did mean something, every touch, every kiss, every time he moved inside her. “I love you too.”
    “Thank Christ for that.”
    There should’ve been music. Instead, there was the angry whinny of a horse, and Janey yelling across the yard for Harry to fetch the bloody thing off the walker. It seemed an odd way to herald the start of something wonderful. But it was Grace’s world and it fit.
    * * * *
    Christopher woke before Grace. The Sunday morning sunlight slipped across the bed, finding shadows in the folds of the duvet and touching Grace’s hair with gold. They’d fallen asleep after making love to the late-night program on the local radio station. The radio was still on, a soft hum of music. Christopher smiled and watched Grace stir. She murmured something as she woke.
    “Hi.” Her voice had that early-morning huskiness he loved.
    “Hi.” He gathered her into his arms, seeking her warmth against the chill. He grew hard when she shifted against him, threading her leg between his.
    “This is nice,” she purred.
    Christopher brushed his lips across hers, lingering at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, it is.”
    She reached across him and turned up the radio. “I like this song.”
    He did too. It was just right for a Sunday morning, slow and sweet. He stroked Grace’s hair, winding his fingers through the tumbled silk of it. He loved waking to her drowsy heat, to the scent of her.
    Grace’s hand drifted to his chest, her fingers spread wide across his skin. His pulse quickened at her touch.
    The three pips announcing the news on the hour disturbed the moment. Christopher covered Grace’s hand with his.
    “A soldier from the Coldstream Guards regiment was killed today by a roadside bomb in Helmand province…”
    Christopher curled his fingers through Grace’s when she looked at him. Her eyes were huge, her fingers stilled.
    “It’ll be all right,” he whispered. He hated the fear in her eyes, the worry she’d always managed to hide from him. “I won’t let it happen to me.”
    “I know.” Grace tightened her fingers around his. “I know you won’t.”
    He drew her close, covered her mouth with his and sought to comfort them both the only way he knew how.

Chapter Six
    “It’s all right, darling, I promise you. They’ll love you.” Christopher brushed her cheek