@honeyheir – cooper & bonnie. boston 2019.
the high from the win still burned through cooper like a live wire. adrenaline hadn’t faded; it was thrumming under his skin, making every breath feel too sharp, every pulse too loud. his lips were already swollen from the frantic kissing in the lift, and the faint sting of her nails across his chest was a sweet reminder of how little control either of them had left. it was a miracle they’d even made it into the hotel suite without being seen. now the door was locked behind them and the city lights of boston glowed soft and distant through the windows.
cooper knew this was wrong. bonnie was the team’s pr manager. sleeping with her was reckless, dangerous, the kind of thing that could blow up careers. but she was irresistible — especially like this, flushed and breathing hard, looking up at him with that wicked little spark in her eyes. his shirt was already gone. he dropped onto the loveseat, long legs stretched out, and reached for her. at six-foot-six he dwarfed her smaller frame easily. one big hand closed around her waist and tugged. she gave a startled little yelp as she tumbled into his lap, and he laughed—low, rough, pure manc. “christ, look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with the northern lilt. “tiny little thing. reckon i could put you in my pocket.”
he didn’t wait. fingers curled in the front of her blouse and tore. buttons scattered across the carpet. the fabric parted with a sharp rip, and he pushed it off her shoulders, impatient. the bra was next—hook flicked open with one practiced tug, straps yanked down her arms. he tossed it aside without looking. then he just stared. her tits were perfect—full, soft, the kind that made his mouth water. pink nipples already tight, each one pierced with a small silver bar that caught the low light. the sight punched the air out of his lungs. “fuck me,” he breathed, thumbs brushing over the metal, then circling the sensitive peaks.
“look at these. pierced, are they? cheeky little minx.” he rolled one nipple gently between thumb and finger, feeling the cool metal and the warmer flesh. “been walkin’ around all night with these under that posh little blouse, knowin’ i’d lose my head the second i saw ‘em.” his hands were huge against her. one spanned nearly the whole of her ribcage as he cupped and lifted, thumbs continuing their slow, deliberate path across the piercings. he leaned in, voice dropping lower, rough with want. “need you, bonnie. proper. adrenaline’s still racin’ and all i can think about is gettin’ inside you. know it’s stupid. know you’re the last person i should be touchin’. but i can’t stop. don’t want to stop.”
he dragged her closer so she was straddling his thighs, the height difference making her feel even smaller against the solid wall of his chest. the claw marks she’d already left were red and raised. he liked the sting of them. liked knowing she’d marked him. his thumbs kept moving—slow, deliberate strokes over the pierced nipples, then down the soft underside of each breast, then back up again. circling. teasing. watching the way her breath hitched every time the metal shifted under his touch. “tell me you want it as bad as i do,” he said, forehead resting against hers, voice thick and low. “tell me, love. ‘cause once i start, i’m not stoppin’ ‘til you’re shakin’.”
the entire thing had begun on nothing more than a reckless whim. one moment they had been shouting in the empty corridor outside the locker rooms—her voice cutting, his manchester accent thickening with every frustrated syllable—and the next she was straddling his massive thighs in a hotel suite, shirt torn open, bra discarded, and his enormous hands already claiming her body like it had always belonged to him. that was cooper riley. captain. six feet six of solid muscle, lingering adrenaline, and the kind of bad decisions that made her pulse race.
bonnie let him take the lead. she always did once the air between them turned this electric. there was something intoxicating about the way he could simply encompass her—his body a living wall of heat and strength that swallowed her smaller frame whole, making her feel tiny, claimed. she revelled in it. the broad spread of his thighs beneath her, the heavy, unmistakable ridge of his cock pressing up against the thin, already-damp lace of her panties, the sheer size of him surrounding her from every angle. it made her dizzy with want.
she rolled her hips forward in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging the soaked crotch of those panties along the thick length of him. the friction tore a broken, needy gasp from her throat. combined with the relentless way his thumbs worked her pierced nipples—circling the sensitive peaks, catching on the silver bars, sending sharp little jolts of pleasure straight down between her legs—it short-circuited every coherent thought she had left.
“you like my tits, captain?” she purred, voice low and filthy, arching her back so the soft weight of them filled his palms even more. the cool metal of the piercings dragged against the rough pads of his thumbs, and the dual sensation made her cunt clench hard around nothing. “been thinking about you staring at them all night, haven’t you? big bad hockey player getting all distracted by the pr girl’s nipples every time she leaned over a tablet.”
she didn’t give him the chance to answer. her mouth crashed into his with raw hunger, kissing him like she meant to climb inside his skin. her tongue shoved past his lips, wet and demanding, then sucked on his for a long, deliberate moment that left him breathless and growling low in his chest. she could taste the leftover adrenaline on him, feel the heat rolling off his bare torso, hear the soft wet sounds their mouths made as she deepened the kiss further. when she finally tore her lips away it was only far enough to whimper against his mouth, voice already wrecked. “fuck—i need your cock.”
her hands were already at his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency as she tugged at the leather. the buckle fought her for a second before giving way. she kept grinding against him the entire time, the lace of her panties growing wetter with every pass over the heavy outline of his erection, the friction turning her breaths into short, shaky pants. she was soaked. she could feel the fabric clinging to her folds, could smell her own arousal rising between them, and the knowledge only made her greedier.
“come on,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-moaning as she finally got his fly open and shoved her hand inside. her fingers wrapped around the thick, scorching length of him through his boxers and a full-body shudder ripped through her at the sheer size of it. god, she was so far gone for this man it was almost embarrassing. and she didn’t care. not tonight. not with the win still buzzing under both their skins and his hands still owning her tits like they were his personal playthings.
“don’t make me beg for it, riley,” she breathed, stroking him once through the fabric, voice turning even more wrecked. “you already know i’m a fucking freak for this. for you. tear the rest of these clothes off me and put that cock where it belongs before i climb you myself and take it.”
