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 himthere, 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.
