We recently discovered the incredible phenomenon of NASCAR-themed romance fiction, stories filled with passion and grease and beautiful people being driven swiftly to ecstasy and Victory Lane alike. What follows is a brief selection from one such tale.
From In the Groove, by Pamela Britton
Her eyes slowly opened, her pupils so dilated they looked almost black. He saw a look of confusion in those eyes, too, and a hint of fear. No, not fear, concern and, yes, he was almost positive, the same amount of sexual interest he himself felt.
"I'd hold on to you even if I saw a picture of you wearing three breasts."
Which made her eyes widen a bit, made a laugh pop out of her and her eyes soften. "I bet you'd like a three-breasted woman."
"I bet you I would, too," he said gently, lowering his head again. And this time when they kissed it wasn't gentle, it wasn't passive, it was a kiss that instantly proved the two of them were like high-octane fuel, their flesh sparking off each other in such a way that Lance felt the purely caveman urge to pick her up and carry her to bed. Except he wasn't in his own motor coach and so all he could do was kiss her, snuggling his hips up against her, showing her what she did to him and how much he wanted more. She didn't draw away. No. She pressed herself tighter against him.
Her mouth slipped open then, the vanilla taste of her causing him to groan again and one of his hands slid up her side at the same time he removed his lips from hers, the smooth skin at the side of her neck tasting as deliciously sweet as the rest of her.
His hand dropped to her waist only to slip beneath her shirt, his fingers sliding over her ribs.
"Lance," she said softly.
"I'm sorry," she said as she slipped out, Lance staying behind for half a second before following her.
But by the time he stepped out of Becca's motor coach, she was rounding the front end. He chased after her for a few steps before realizing she didn't want to be caught.
"Damn it," he said.
Be sure to tune in for the next steamy installment of Tailpipe — your smutty NASCAR romance story hour!