Cc's favourite image of Kendra Kharn
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I picked her up just after 10 a.m., the engine already warm, the day full of possibility. She stepped out in all black — helmet in hand, snug jeans, fitted jacket, and that unmistakable spark in her eyes. Confident, radiant, and completely unmissable. She smiled and said, “Ready when you are.”
She climbed on behind me like she was born to ride, arms slipping around my waist, settling in close. As we took off, I felt her body lean with mine into every corner — her trust, her energy, syncing perfectly with the road and the rhythm.
We rode for hours. Winding coastal stretches, ocean on one side, her pressed close behind me. Every stop felt like a scene out of something cinematic — especially when she took off her helmet, shook out her cropped blond hair, and looked at me like she knew exactly what was coming.
We had lunch at a quiet seaside pub — cold drinks, warm sun, easy laughter. She was grounded but playful, sharp but never guarded. No pretense, no pressure — just connection building with every smile and brush of her hand across mine.
Back at the hotel, things shifted. The intensity that had been simmering all day finally spilled over. Her jacket came off. Then her top. Each layer revealed more than just skin — it revealed how natural it felt to be close to her.
In bed, she was everything — attentive, responsive, completely present. Not a performance, not a routine. Just two people fully in the moment. Slow, then fast. Gentle, then wild. The kind of intimacy that sticks in your chest long after the night is over.
By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, we lay there — tangled, relaxed, and still buzzing from the ride and everything after. She didn’t just ride with me. She met me where I was — on the road, in the room, in the moment.
Unforgettable.
— C.C., rider
She climbed on behind me like she was born to ride, arms slipping around my waist, settling in close. As we took off, I felt her body lean with mine into every corner — her trust, her energy, syncing perfectly with the road and the rhythm.
We rode for hours. Winding coastal stretches, ocean on one side, her pressed close behind me. Every stop felt like a scene out of something cinematic — especially when she took off her helmet, shook out her cropped blond hair, and looked at me like she knew exactly what was coming.
We had lunch at a quiet seaside pub — cold drinks, warm sun, easy laughter. She was grounded but playful, sharp but never guarded. No pretense, no pressure — just connection building with every smile and brush of her hand across mine.
Back at the hotel, things shifted. The intensity that had been simmering all day finally spilled over. Her jacket came off. Then her top. Each layer revealed more than just skin — it revealed how natural it felt to be close to her.
In bed, she was everything — attentive, responsive, completely present. Not a performance, not a routine. Just two people fully in the moment. Slow, then fast. Gentle, then wild. The kind of intimacy that sticks in your chest long after the night is over.
By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, we lay there — tangled, relaxed, and still buzzing from the ride and everything after. She didn’t just ride with me. She met me where I was — on the road, in the room, in the moment.
Unforgettable.
— C.C., rider
