Page 2 of Enemies to Lovers on Biker's Path

And I keep doing it.

My clothes come off, giving me lots of breaks in the kiss. Right? I mean, I can’t kiss him when he lifts my shirt up and over my head. I can’t kiss him when I get his shirt up and off. I can’t kiss him when I back off a bit to slide my jogging shorts down. I mean, I can’t claim like I never get a chance to stop. There are plenty of opportunities to use my voice. I just don’t!

And that’s the fucking crazy thing. I want this. I mean, I absolutely don’t want this! But I want it, too. So again, there’s one important question here.

What the hell is going on?

I mean, let’s just look at all four of the things wrong with this picture.

First of all, I’m in public and almost naked. All right, this is a somewhat secluded area. I mean, it’s not like I’m on the street or in a front yard. It’s not like this is happening in the park or on Aisle Six of the grocery emporium. But it’s still in public and anyone might walk by and see me.

And the guy who’s doing it is just as undressed as me. They would see him, too.

Specifically, they might see me kissing him with my hand on his cock and stroking him. Yeah, that’s the second thing wrong with this picture. I’m stroking someone’s cock in public. It’s not just nudity going on here. Nope. I’m stroking his cock!

The third thing wrong with this picture is that I fully intend to get that cock I’m stroking into my pussy. How in the world does a girl who’s never even done sex in a car decide not only to be outdoors and down to just socks and panties… I mean, how do I end up stroking a cock in public, and… How in the world can I be planning sex in public? What the hell?

Oh, and let’s not forget about the elephant in the room. Wait. No. Not in the room. Let’s not forget about the elephant on the path out in public where anybody might happen upon us. The guy I’m kissing, I mean. The guy who’s (very substantial, by the way) cock is in my hand. The guy I intend to fuck. That guy.

Grant Hendricks.

The only person in my life I consider an enemy.

How does this even happen? I mean, I understand how sometimes people acting mean with each other is because they want each other. I get that being angry or even vicious is just covering up sexual tension and attraction. I get that. That’s not what’s happening here. I mean, I can admit that Grant’s attractive. You already know that five years ago, I thought I was going to give him my virginity. I don’t feel any nice feelings about him right now.

I still hate this asshole.

And I’m still pissed at him. He ruined my best friend’s life!

But I’m still going to fuck him. I’m still horny as hell. That’s the part I don’t get. The boys who got hand jobs and blowjobs from me… I liked them a whole lot. I wouldn’t have done anything if I didn’t. As for sex with Toby, I thought I loved him. He thought he loved me, too. There were times we had sex and we weren’t particularly happy with each other, of course. That happens over the course of a three year relationship, right?

But… I mean, I actively hate Grant!

I’m thinking about what an evil asshole he is as I kiss him and stroke his cock. I’m thinking about all the reasons to hate him while my pussy pulses and throbs in anticipation of getting that cock of his inside me. This doesn’t make any sense at all. I don’t understand how in the world I can be doing this. I mean, I guess if I just got caught up in the moment I forgot about my anger at him and all the reasons to hate him, okay.

But how in the world can I be doing this while simultaneously experiencing all of the negative feelings I always feel around him? How is that even possible?

“Oh, fuck, Grant! Yes!” The words come out against his lips as his hand slides into my panties and I feel his fingers at my pussy. I can’t believe the intensity of the sensations that rush over me. I certainly can’t believe that these sensations are coming to me courtesy of Grant Hendricks! At least I have the excuse of those sensations to explain why I kiss him more aggressively and passionately.

He lifts me up and suddenly his lips close over my nipple. Just in case I’m not humiliated quite enough acting like some kind of a total slut with him, I cry out, “Yes! Grant, damn! Yes!”

What the actual, fuck?

And then, he sets me back down but not on my feet. He just puts me right on the forest floor. He takes hold of my panties and slides them down and off. The second guy to ever see my pussy is my worst enemy. The first guy to see it in two years in the guy I hate.

And I moan like some kind of nympho and breathe out, “Yes. Fuck me, Grant! Fuck me!”

I’m so ready for his cock. I can’t believe it but I’m so wet and so desperate. I guess I can feel a bit of comfort in the fact that anger and arousal are related emotions. At least that provides me with a little bit of an excuse as I cry out and beg a man who I hate to stick his dick into me. Or is it whom I hate?

I guess that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I hate Grant but still beg him to fuck me with desperation in my voice that is only surpassed by the actual desperation that I feel. He doesn’t fuck me, though. Instead, he completely redefines pleasure for me.

Chapter Three

I can feel the pine needles prickly texture under my body. I can feel the woodsy breeze over my skin. I’m staring upward and I can see the trees rising up like towers, light filtering down through them in some sort of strange, beautiful way. Now the situation seems almost dreamlike. All of my senses are engaged, though, and they’re all coming in very, very sharply. There’s nothing out of focus and nothing confusing about what I feel.

And the particular sensations that are most important right now are the sensations Grant delivers with his hands and his mouth. His hands have a firm hold of my breasts and he uses his thumbs and forefingers to tweak and pinch my nipples. Each touch sends almost electric sensations rushing through me as I rest my hands lightly on his forearms and whisper, “Grant. Oh… So good, Grant.”

I whisper those worlds like I’m in love with the prick!

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