The engine hummed its way up to a roar as the sleek silver bullet shot out of a turn. Tires squealed as it broke into the straightaway. The power of four hundred horses thrummed through the chassis and right into the center of me, right there between my legs. His hand slid up my thigh as the speedometer slid into the red.
"Most men can't handle my driving," I told him as his fingers slid under my skirt and discovered the bare flesh above my stockings.
"I'm not most men." His eyes widened slightly as his fingers found the clasp of the traditional style garters. "A garter belt, a silver convertible and a taste for speeding down Mulholland. Am I gonna find a snub-nose .38 under there?"
"Raymond Chandler would have loved me. I have a Glock, thanks. A girl's gotta be modern. I've no objection to you continuing to search though."
He smiled as I downshifted and whipped the car into the next turn. The sharp right threw him into me, and drove his hand to the apex of my legs, just as I had intended.
"That's not old-fashioned," he breathed as he felt my bare flesh and the lips of my already wet sex. "Or did Marlene Dietrich shave?"
"Dietrich? I thought you said I looked like a red-haired Betty Page? Ummmm, yes. Keep doing that. Let's have a race. You try to make me come before we reach the hotel. But I'm not slowing down. You need to earn your reward."
"What is that reward? Maybe I'd rather lose." He whispered the words into my ear and then followed them with his tongue. I shivered as his tongue and fingers moved in unison. My eyelids fluttered momentarily before I snatched them back open, suddenly remembering that I was speeding down a road that had seen more then a few fatal mistakes, and at more sane speeds than this.
"Maybe we should start this race at the bottom of the hill." I purred, "I'm beginning to think I want to live for this."