by Kayt Miller
She had me laughing the entire time with stories about Cooke as a boy. Then, while Cooke waited in the car, Saffie and I saw some of London’s famous landmarks. I declined the offer to go to Madame Tussauds wax museum, because wax people aren’t really my thing. We did visit Sherlock Holmes’s house, which was cool. I took lots of pictures for my dad. He’s always loved Sherlock Holmes mysteries, so he’ll get a kick out of seeing the pictures. There wasn’t time to visit the National Gallery because, according to Saffie, you need a week for that. So when I come back again someday, I’ll plan to do just that.
Cooke didn’t sit in the car the entire time, though. He had the driver put his wheelchair in the back so he could join us for some of the excursions. One of the things all three of us did was ride on the London Eye. That’s the giant Ferris wheel in the center of the city. I’m not great with heights or Ferris wheels, but this was a slow ride in a very large, enclosed capsule, so it wasn’t too bad. London was breathtaking from the top. I hope to do that again someday, but at night. I bet London at night would be a sight to behold.
Cooke wanted to take us to a fancy restaurant for lunch, but I wasn’t dressed for that, so he took us to The Queen’s Head pub located in Piccadilly Circus. Let me tell you, it was amazing. I wasn’t sure which British fare to try, so Cooke ordered a selection so I could have a taste. It was all so good, I’m not sure I could pick a favorite. Well, okay, I think I could. It was the asparagus, broccoli, broad bean, and goat’s cheese pie. It may not sound good, but believe me, it was delish. Sticky date pudding with toffee sauce was damn good too.
After our outing, Saffie went home. I was bummed when she left, as it reminded me that my time in London was running out. Not to mention I was home, alone, with Cooke. And even though he was exhausted, he stayed up long enough for us to cuddle on his bed and watch the telly. I can’t even remember what we watched because we spent most of the time kissing. Sweet, soft kisses.
Sigh.
The day after that, we had a lazy day at home together. He had a physio appointment that he rescheduled to the day after I left. I don’t think the team doctor was happy with him, but Cooke didn’t seem to care.
“I’m fine here if you need to go,” I’d said after I overheard his raised voice on the phone.
“There’s nothing they can do with me at this stage. I don’t know why they make me go. All they do is massage my upper leg. I lift it up and down until they tell me I can leave.” He sighed. “That can wait.”
That day, we lazed about on his patio. I took a swim wearing one of his mom’s old swimsuits. Thankfully, it was a modest one-piece in all black. It was too tight, but I wasn’t about to say a word about that. While I swam, Cooke sat in a chair next to the pool and watched. He talked too, telling me more about his mom and even his dad.
“He buggered off when I was eight and Saff was six. The bastard,” he’d said.
“Where is he now?” I asked, floating on my back.
Cooke’s eyes were trained on my chest as he responded. “He lives in Scotland with his other family.”
I stopped floating and moved to the edge of the pool nearest Cooke. “I’m sorry, Cooke.”
“If you’re truly sorry, you should slip out of that skimpy little suit and swim.”
I blushed. Oh my goodness. Even in cool water, I knew my face and chest must have been magenta.
I swallowed hard, then laughed. “Cooke….”
“Please?” he asked with those eyes again.
“Really? You really want me to swim”—I lowered my voice to finish—“nude?”
“I do. I really, really bloody do.”
We stared at one another for a good minute. It was a tense minute. His eyes were hooded and broody all at once.
“Fine,” I whispered. Slipping off the shoulder straps, I let them fall to my upper arm. I then wiggled and pushed down at the same time until it was sliding down my legs and off. Reaching down, I picked up his mom’s suit and tossed it out of the pool at his feet. “Happy?” I said snarkily.
“Very.” Scooting his chair closer to the edge, he leaned forward. “Now back float, please, love.”
I snort, then laugh. “You’re a pervert.”
“Aye.”
I must be a pervert too, because I did it, and guess what? I liked it. Cooke then slipped off his pants. I held my breath as he used his palm to slowly stroke himself up and down. I had to stop swimming just to watch him.
“You should step out of the pool and help me with this.” He looks down at his hard dick.
Without hesitation, I stepped slowly to the ladder that led out of the water and walked, completely naked, to his side. Grabbing the towel I brought from the bathroom, I set it on the ground and knelt next to him. His eyes never left mine. It was intense and erotic. Then, when I pushed up onto my knees, leaned over, and kissed him there, Cooke nearly slid off his chair.
“Is that okay?” I asked, unsure.
“Bloody hell,” he hissed. “Yes.”
“More?” My words were gone. One was all I could muster.
“Please.” Obviously Cooke was in the same predicament.
Nervous, I leaned over him again and kissed the tip once more. Then I swiped the head with my tongue. Cooke moaned and leaned back in his chair. I pushed his hand away so I could use my own. Stroking him up and down, I couldn’t believe how warm and smooth he was. There were veins here and there that all led to the head. I licked him starting at the base and working my way up. I knew I was getting somewhere, because Cooke said all sorts of dirty things to me. Dirty things I’ll never forget.
“Fucking hell, love. Yes. Lick my cock.”
When I placed my mouth over the head and sucked, he nearly came unglued. “Suck me. Suck all of me. Fecking swallow my cock, Quinn.”
He had me so frenzied, I did what he said, choking several times. I didn’t care because the man was saying my name right along with all that filth. I loved it. Having my mouth on Cooke’s cock was a pleasure for both of us.
I did it several more times while I was there, each time Cooke telling me I was a “fecking natural.” It makes me blush and giggle at the same time whenever I think about it. And feel a little proud, to be honest. Mind you, I’m not sure I’d like to do that with just anyone. I think it’s best if you love the person, but that’s just me. No judgment here. To each his own and all that.
Besides the blow jobs, we also watched my first porno together while lying on his bed, and let me just say office porn is not terrible. Well, okay, it is terrible, but in a good way.
It’s official. I’m a sex fiend.
Last night, my final night in London, Cooke made me dinner—omelets and toast. It was perfect. I was glad we chose to stay in, as I didn’t want to share him with anyone. Well, that was until half of his rugby team showed up at the door at ten at night, all of them completely plastered. I guess they were celebrating a win against their biggest rival, Wales. I’m not sure why Cooke didn’t want to watch it on the TV, but he didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even know there was a match.
Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is I got to meet his teammates. Ian remembered me from our first FaceChat. He told me once again that I had great baps. I now know baps are breasts, but I wanted to die of embarrassment last night, because when he said it, I just said, “Thanks,” since I had no idea what he meant. It had all of them laughing hysterically. The arseholes. At least he said they were nice.
As for some of the other guys, they kept their opinions about my baps and everything else about me to themselves. I did catch one guy giving me the stink eye and a couple of the others checking me out. I didn’t like it, and from the look on Cooke’s face, he didn’t much like it either. I think that’s why he told them all to “Go on, lads. Leave me with my woman.”
“Aye,” said Ian. Clapping his hands together to get the drunken group’s attention, he led them out the door to the two SUVs waiting at the curb.
“At least they aren’t driving,”
I said as I shut the door to the last of them.
Before I knew what was happening, Cooke had my back up against the door, my arms over my head, and his tongue down my throat. Of course I kissed him right back. Why wouldn’t I?
“Those bloody twats,” he said as he kissed me right below my ear. “Looking at you like you aren’t mine.” His hands were magic. When he pulled at my nipples, I felt it in my core. Then when his hand slid down into my leggings, seeking my clit, I moaned and nipped at his neck.
“Cooke,” I whined.
“I’ve got you, love.” And he did. He used his fingers to bring me to orgasm. After I came down from that high, I reached down to touch him, but he stopped me. “No. I just wanted to make you feel good.”
Still trying to get my hands on him, I whispered, “I do. Let’s feel good together.”
Taking my hand in his, Cooke led me to his bedroom. “Lie with me. Let me hold you while we sleep. Tomorrow is coming too soon.”
Well damn. I knew sex was out of the question, since he couldn’t do anything that would jeopardize his leg, but I thought at least we could do something more. I understood, though. I was just happy to be with him for one more night.
So, when I woke up the next morning, Cooke was already up, making breakfast. Alone in his bed, I started to sob, but I gathered myself as I showered and packed up my things. I rolled my suitcase out to the living room and was overcome with sadness until I saw Cooke had his dining table set for breakfast. He even had fresh flowers in the middle of the table.
“Breakfast, miss?” He bowed next to my chair, then pulled it out so I could sit.
“Th-Thank you, Cooke.” I sniffled as I sipped my juice. I pretended to nibble on the eggs and toast, because my stomach was in knots.
Cooke moved closer to me, taking one of my hands in his. “Now,” he said all businesslike, “make sure you text me as soon as you land in the States, and again when you land in Iowa, and again when you get back to Ames.”
“I will.”
“I’ll FaceChat with you in a couple of days as well.”
“All right.”
“And, Quinn?”
My head was down, staring at our hands. When he said my name, I looked up at him. He was leaning in, close enough to kiss. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Oh shit. That did it. I immediately starting bawling, and it wasn’t pretty at all. Ugly criers, you can relax. I win.
I jumped up from my chair and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as he could get to me with his contraption. “I l-love you too, Cooke. So much.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me just like that for a long, long time. At least until the waterworks were done. Then the kissing started. So many lovely kisses. The man has the most amazing lips. They’re soft yet firm, and they know what they’re doing.
When it was time to leave for the airport, the black car appeared once again. Cooke rode along with me in the back seat, where we held hands and looked at one another almost the whole way. At the airport terminal, the driver parked the car, and I felt like I was going to be sick. Literally sick. I swallowed down the bile and wrapped my arms around him. “I’m g-going to miss you so much.”
Placing his hands on my cheeks, he said, “I miss you already, love.” Then he leaned in for another kiss. The final kiss.
I checked my bag and made my way through security. It took twice as long as it did in Des Moines. Not surprising, since Heathrow is massive. When I got to the gate, I heard my name over the loudspeaker. They were calling me up to the counter. Taking my carry-on with me, I waited in line. When it was my turn, I said, “I’m Quinn Maxwell.”
“Hello, Miss Maxwell. May I see your ticket and passport, please?” the woman asked.
When I placed both on the counter, she looked at them and said, “Thank you.”
I was starting to worry that I’d done something wrong. I watched her type on her computer for a minute, and then she printed something out. “There you go, miss.” She slid a new ticket toward me. “You’ve been upgraded,” she chirped happily.
“Upgraded?”
“First class.”
“First class?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Why?”
“Your name was flagged. It said you’d been upgraded.”
She doesn’t need to explain. I know what happened. One Mr. Cooke Thompson pulled some strings.
Me: Did you upgrade me?
Cooke: Aye. Only the best for my girl.
Me: **eye roll** Stop buying me things. With that said, thank you.
Cooke: You’re welcome.
Me: I love you. I miss you.
Cooke: I love you too. I miss you more.
I slept most of the way home in the most comfortable seat in the world. The food was good too. But I’d have given it all up to have Cooke by my side. No contest.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“So, how was it?” Tayler asks on the car ride back to Ames. She was nice enough to pick me up at the airport.
“Amazing.” I sigh. “Perfect. He told me he loved me.”
“Shut the front door!” she shouts so loud it makes my ears ring. “Did you say it back?”
“I did. I do love him.”
With her eyes back on the road, she smirks and says, “What’s not to love?”
I snort. “He’s not perfect.”
Tayler slowly moves her head until she’s staring me in the eye. “Oh. My. God.”
“What? And can you keep your eyes on the road, please?”
“This one is real.”
“What’s real?”
“Cooke. He’s the real deal.”
“Yeah. He’s real.” What the heck is she going on about? I watch out the window as Tayler slows the car enough to take an exit off the interstate that isn’t ours. “What’re you doing?”
She pulls the car onto the shoulder of the road. Turning to me, she says, “I needed to pull over for this.” Then she reaches out and hugs me.
I should warn her about airplane cooties, but instead I ask, “Did you miss me that much?”
Pulling away from the hug, she smiles. “You haven’t put Cooke on a pedestal. You said it yourself, he’s not perfect.”
“He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me.”
“But every other guy you’ve ever lusted after was perfect.” She says it in kind of a snooty way. I don’t appreciate that. “Nothing was ever wrong with them. Take Bryant.” She snorts. “You thought he shit sunshine.”
“Gross.” I laugh. “I did not.”
“Yes you did. But this guy… the hottest man to ever walk the planet, not to mention he’s a professional athlete, loaded, I assume, and British. That guy isn’t perfect?”
“No. He’s sort of a slob, and he’s super cranky in the morning, and—”
“See?” she practically squeaks. “This is fucking awesome.” Putting the car back into Drive, she looks back to make sure no one is behind us and pulls out onto the road.
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re crazy.” She laughs. “By the way, Vic has been asking about you every day. It’s getting on my nerves, so you’d better stop in and tell him you’re back.”
“Aw, that’s nice.”
“He loves you for some reason. Hell, he can’t even remember my name.”
“He calls me spitfire.”
“He called you Quinn to me.”
For some reason, that makes my heart feel all warm and fuzzy. “Maybe I’ll take Mary for a walk or something.”
“You should. Find out the story about her, would you? All Vic said was she was abused. I want to know if the fuckers who abused her were punished.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.”
I fall asleep for the rest of the ride home. Tayler wakes me up as soon as we’re in the parking lot, so I decide I’d better send Cooke a text letting him know I’m home.
Cooke: I’m glad you’re home sa
fe & sound, love. Miss you. <3.
Me: Me too. I’m beat. I’ll message you after I’ve slept some. Love you.
God, it feels so weird to say that to him.
Cooke: Love you more.
And even weirder to see him saying it back to me. How did that happen? The question I have now is, how are we going to stay together? I’ve always heard long-distance relationships never work out, and this distance is… well, it’s extreme, to say the least. I can’t just jet off to see him whenever I want to, and neither can he.
No. I refuse to think negatively. In my heart, I know… if anyone can do this, we can.
“You just took off on a moment’s notice to be with your injured man?” Lindsay sighs and rests her head on her palm. “That’s so romantic.”
It’s Monday morning, and I’m sitting in the kitchen of the Beedle house, waiting for Susanna to get her ass out of bed so we can go for our walk. I really don’t have time to walk, though, because I’ve got so much homework to make up that I feel like my head might explode. No worries. I can do it. Just throw it on top of the two exams, three quizzes, and the ceramics pieces I need to make before I head home for break.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not whining. I knew I’d have a lot to do once I got back. No regrets. Absolutely none. I’d fly off to help Cooke again in a heartbeat.
“Did you hear me?” asks Susanna, who finally appeared.
“No, sorry. I was thinking about all the shit I have to do this week.” Oh, and Luke wants me to work Wednesday night as well as next Friday, Saturday, and Sunday since Chris is going home to Indiana for the weekend. Again, I’m not complaining. It’s the least I can do. I’ll ask Tayler if she wants to head back to Ames early. It’s no problem if she doesn’t; my hometown is only about an hour and a half from here, so one of my brothers can drive me.
