okay but imagine dayton white giving you victory head: he’s just won the biggest race of his life and he’s just buzzing with energy afterwards, can’t contain the smile on his face if you paid him to. as soon as he gets the chance, he’s pulling you away, away from the gaggle of people trying to get pictures and congratulate him. he guides you to the trailer they use to move his car race to race, throwing open the driver’s seat door and throwing you across the seats. it’s tight fit, but there’s /just/ enough room for him to get your pants and panties off. he bends over you, still wearing his hat and that goddamn jumpsuit, and just goes to town, mouth working at your heat as soon as you spread your legs. he’s frantic with it, the hands holding on to your hips are shaking, tongue and teeth and lips working in tandem to get you off. all the while, you’re guiding his head, fingers wrapped around the bill off his cap. you find your release not once, not twice, but /three/ times before he finally lets up, pulling away, boyish grin pulling at his sinful lips.
"Did I do good, darlin’?“ he asks you, southern accent just that much thicker, dripping from his mouth like honey. you’re nodding, blissful and breathless at the sudden turn of events as he cleans you up the best he can, using napkins he finds from the glove department. eventually you two make it back to the crowd and his friends hunt you down, asking where the two of you went off to. the words die on their lips as they take in the blush high on your cheeks and the way his lips are too pink, plump and swollen.
"Do a little celebratin’ on your own, White?” the man in question just shrugs, tugging you into his side by your waist. he hides his sly grin in your hair, pale eyes shinin’ with mischief. “Had to get my girl as excited as I was, is all.”