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Freshly polished nails traced random shapes on the leather gear stick as brown eyes glared at her opponents. A glare so strong, the man under her piercing eyes was conflicted between feeling aroused by the alluring features of her face or afraid underneath her enchanting eyes.

Thin strands of hair fell over her ear, caressing the pale skin of her cheek, jaw, and neck like a cascading waterfall of liquid caramel. Her glossed, red lips curved into a smirk; her thick, long eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks every time she batted her eyes.

The man squirmed in his seat, grunting lowly as he felt his member grow excited, but he didn't want her to know the kind of effect she had on him just just her eyes.

But she knew.

A soft chuckle left her lips and she turned away from him, her gaze now shifted on the roads ahead of her. She was the only girl in the race, yet she was more intimidating than the three other men combined.

A relieved sigh was released from the man she had been glaring at, and he looked down at himself, grunting in frustration at his aroused member straining against his jeans.

Loud chatter surrounded the four cars as bystanders prepared for the race of the night. Music blasted from the speakers of parked cars along the sidewalk. Owners of vibrant colored cars with modified exterior designs stood against their cars, proudly proclaiming their cars as theirs. Women in explicit clothing cling to their men or to their cars, shoulders pushed back and head held high to boast about what they have, whether it be the luxury of their car or the voluptuous features of their body.

The ruckus had finally died down as the host of the street race made his way down the center of the starting line. A proud smile fell on his lips as he acknowledged the drivers with a soft nod and then the bystanders who attended his routinely scheduled event. For he had created a prospering empire of his own at such a young age with the thing he was most passionate about: cars. He lifted both his arms, forming a 't' to symbolize the beginning of the race. His white shirt lifted with the action, revealing his thin waist and the carvings of his v-line.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He spoke, his voice dominating the crowd like the booming of thunder of a city. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes!" The crowd roared in response, lifting their red plastic cups in the air.

"Let the race begin." At his cue, a young woman in jean shorts and a green bralette swaggered towards the host, she was the flagger.

He reached down, kissing her lips sweetly before slapping her ass. She was his girlfriend. Her hand reached his chest, pulling out a red handkerchief from his pocket as he pulled away. When he was off of the track, she lifted both her arms.

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