She slammed the garage door shut behind them, the smell of hot rubber and engine oil thick in the air. "You won that race," she said, already yanking down his fireproof suit. "Now fuck me like you drove it."
He didn't waste time with words. His hands were rough as he spun her around and bent her over the front wing of the car. The metal was still warm from the track. He ripped her jeans down to her knees, shoved two fingers straight into her cunt, and grunted when he felt how soaked she was. "Dripping already. Been thinking about this since lap forty?"
She pushed back on his hand. "Shut up and use your cock."
He pulled his fingers out, spat on them, and rubbed the spit over his thick shaft. One hard thrust and he buried himself to the balls. She gasped, fingers scrabbling for grip on the slick bodywork. He didn't ease in. He fucked her like he was chasing a time gap, hips snapping fast and brutal, the wet slap of skin loud in the empty garage.
Every thrust shoved her forward. The car rocked under them. "Harder," she hissed. "Make it count."
He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and drove in deeper. His balls slapped her clit with every stroke. Sweat dripped off him onto her back. She reached down and rubbed her own clit in tight circles, matching his rhythm. "That's it, you dirty bastard. Fuck me like the win depends on it."
He pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the hood, and shoved her legs wide. Her jeans were still tangled around one ankle. He lined up again and slammed home, watching her tits bounce under the thin tank top. She clawed at his shoulders, leaving red lines. "Come on, driver. Give me everything."
He leaned over her, one hand around her throat, and pounded harder. The hood creaked. Oil and come mixed on her thighs. She came first, cunt clamping down, a raw moan ripping out of her as her back arched off the metal. He kept fucking her through it, chasing his own finish.
When he was close he pulled out, jerked his cock twice, and shot thick ropes across her stomach and the car. White streaks on red paint. He didn't let go of her throat until the last spurt.
They stayed like that, breathing hard, the garage quiet except for the tick of cooling engines. She dragged two fingers through the mess on her skin and licked them clean. "Next race," she said, voice hoarse, "I want it in the cockpit."
He grinned, already half-hard again. "Deal."
