As we kissed her I slid into her in one smooth thrust. Georgy gasped, her hands grabbing my upper-arms as she lifted her hips to meet me, willingly taking me in, loving me back the way I was loving her. I love to make love slowly to Georgy, to take my time and live the experience. She loves that I take my time, make it about us, not just sport and gratification; I could never do that to her. I’m supremely grateful she chose to link her life so intimately to mine and I try and make sure she knows that always, but especially when we make love.
“Ohh, Will, yesss, that’s it, yess, like that ooohhh yess…” she chanted as her orgasm approached, until:
“OOOhhh Yesss, yess, yes baby ooohhhGGGOODDD! YESS!” she gasped, her breath whistling through clenched teeth as she tightened around me. That was it for me; I couldn’t hold back a moment longer and groaned as what felt like my whole heart and soul poured into her. My ears popped and my eyesight dimmed with the force of my climax rushing through me and taking over my life, long, thrilling, satisfying jets of spunk pumping into her, draining me dry.
I slumped down, just enough wit left in me to roll away so I didn’t crush her as I collapsed bonelessly, utterly spent. Making love to Georgy always does this to me, that connection we share drawing everything I feel for her out of me every time we connect in this way. Making love to the love of my life is truly the best feeling in the world.
Georgy rolled against me with a contented sigh.
“Love you, Soldier-Man…” she murmured, smiling as she kissed her fingertip and dabbed the end of my nose with it. I kissed her, enjoying all over again the sensation of her lips against mine.
“Love you too, pretty girl!”
Georgy snuggled herself closer into me, wrapping my arms around herself and pulling the covers up around us, making a warm cocoon for just the two of us. The warm scent of her hair and the feel of her curls against my cheek, her warmth, and her soft, regular breathing, all conspired to send me back to deep, contented sleep.
*****
I woke up slowly, drowsy and ready for a lazy, extended lie-in, instead opening my eyes to see Edie staring fixedly at me, shocking me awake. There was no sign of Georgy. Edie hasn’t quite grown out of that unnerving, laser-focused, unblinking infant-stare that little ones seem to do instinctively, and seeing it burning into me at close range first thing when opening my eyes is always a bit of a shock.
“Daddy, get up, it’s late, Mummy said we can only explore if you come along so get up, pleeease?”
I grabbed her and tickled her a little, kissed her a lot, my usual ‘good morning’ with her, and sent her on her way with a pat on the bottom. Something smelled nice, just not me, so shower first, then find out what the agenda for the day was.
*****
The days blended together so seamlessly it began to feel like we’d never been anywhere else but the cottage, and never had a life anywhere else; long, golden days of summer spent picnicking with the children, rough and tumbling with them in the meadows, being fascinated by how fascinated they were by the wildlife that surrounded us, the hundreds of rabbits that dotted the meadows at twilight nibbling the grass, or watching the swifts wheeling and darting over the pond and flying back into their nests like little upside-down igloos tucked up under the eaves of the barn, or lying enthralled with them by the pond, watching the newts and salamanders creeping around under the surface, and the tiny, bright green flogs paddling around in the shallows.
The children grew wise to the ways of the badgers and foxes that ambled across the fields at twilight, and learned how to sit silently and watch as moles threw up their little hills as they dug their way across the meadows, or watched in fascination as stoats and weasels stalked rabbits. They loved to dip for minnows and stickleback in the little beck that meandered along the valley floor, and the large brown crayfish they trapped with their dipping-nets and the makeshift reed creels Jarhead made for them were always suitably admired and eaten with gusto when their Aunt Kay cooked them up.
Expeditions to the lip of the valley with the children so they could play and collect pine-cones in the fir and pine plantations running down into the adjoining valley were one of their favourite pastimes, that and watching the cows and sheep graze along the valley sides, and following the cow-men to the local dairy to watch the evening milking, and smiling as they helped the dairymen spread rich silage, the pungent fermented grass for the cows to munch on as they were milked.
We didn’t neglect their schooling, though; Megan and Georgy concentrated on teaching Jerry to read and helping him and Edie with basic numeracy skills. Jamie had brought along his favourite ‘Biggles’ adventure stories, and had developed a fondness for Marryat’s ‘Children of The New Forest’, which stirred an interest in history. He’d never really thought of his home as particularly interesting, it was just where he lived, but now he was interested in who he was, where his family was from, and what that snarling leopard on my signet ring and on his mother’s large, ornate ruby signet ring back at home signified.
He’d sit enthralled as his uncles told him tales of famous battles, and tales of heroes, of battles won and lost, of Richard the Lion-heart, of Owen Glyndwr and Prince Llewellyn and their hopeless fight to keep Wales free and independent, Edward The Black Prince, Wellington, Nelson, and Rex’s favourite, Chard and Bromhead and the 139 soldiers of 24th Foot and their defence of Rourkes Drift against 4, 500 Zulu warriors.
He learned about more than just British martial history, though; he learned about Sam Houston, James Wolfe and Montcalm, Dearborn and his riflemen at Saratoga, Lee and Sherman, Custer and The Little Bighorn, and tales of the Gurkha’s and the Chindits, of Douglas Bader, the Spitfire pilot who’d lost both his legs but still fought in the Battle of Britain and became a fighter Ace and Wing Commander, and Guy Gibson and his men, the Dam Busters, who’d flown the Bouncing Bombs into the German dams to try and shorten the war. They held him spellbound as they shared their heroes and their passion for martial history with him. I also noticed Megan seemed to be spending a lot of time with Jarhead, and I mentioned it to Georgy, who smiled that secret smile she does so well.
“Well why not, Will? She’s a pretty girl, Andy’s not exactly repulsive, I’m sure she realised a while back that there’s more to life than hiding away from civilisation and bringing up other people’s children. Ignore it, babe, she’s old enough to know what she’s doing.”
It was an idyllic existence, so much so that we pretty much forgot the reason we were there in the first place. Georgy had lost that air of tense watchfulness, and I had stopped my habitual night-time patrols around the valley; night after night I found no evidence that anyone was keeping tabs on us, and there had been no further incidents back at our home. The SRG team holed up at the house checked-in nightly with Jarhead or Bonzo to report that they had nothing to report, and SRG’s sister alphabet agencies had reported no intercepted chatter concerning us or our whereabouts.
With peace breaking out all around us, I began to grow complacent, and started to believe that because nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen; whoever was stalking us had gone; they’d lost us and given up. I said as much to Jarhead, and for the first and only time ever, he literally chewed my ears off.
“What is wrong with you, LT, did you just decide to become stupid? How long are you going to stay here? Forever? Because you can’t, those kids need to go back to school, they need other kids around them, and you have a business to run and a life away from here. The people in the next valley, the people in the village, all the farms around here, they all know you’re here, how long do you think it will be before it gets back to the wrong people? We don’t know who’s after you, we think it’s probably not some crazed Jihadist group with a bone to pick against former soldiers; that doesn’t mean there aren’t other crazies out there with a fucked-up reason or grudge all of their own. Look at you. You’re out of condition, lazy, getting a belly on you, that’s not who you are. Shape up Will, this life can’t last forever; those crazy fuckers, whoever they are, haven’t forgotten you, and sooner or later they’re coming calling!”
That night I looked at myself naked in the bathroom mirror and saw what I’d become. Jarhead was right; I was doughy, flabby, so far out of condition I couldn’t believe I’d let it happen to myself; I’d mocked Max Preece for being a fat little bastard, now I wasn’t far behind him, and I disgusted myself. How the hell could I have let this happen? How could I look after my family when I couldn’t even look after myself?
I swore there and then that it was time to change; no more snacking, no more picnics and fry-ups, no more beer, no more lazing around, and no more driving; the valley was four miles long give or take, not that big as these things go, and less than half of my morning run every day at Sandhurst. A daily hike from one end to the other and back again should be a simple way to start me back into a proper fitness regime and trim some of the flab off.
I’d never really exercised methodically before, I’d never needed to; working on the houses with Georgy gave me all the bending, stretching, running around, and heavy lifting and carrying I needed to maintain my peak fitness. I used to be proud of the fact I was ‘military-fit’ not ‘gym-fit’, and somehow I’d let that go, slipping instead into a life of ease; come the morning, that was going to stop. I slipped my shorts on and climbed into bed, and Georgy, who should have been asleep, wriggled up close to me. She looked at me, smiled that sweet, enigmatic smile of hers, my smile, and kissed me gently.