Dream car exhibition

She steps into the showroom like she owns the place, all legs and sun-kissed hair. The classic cars gleam under the lights, but her eyes keep drifting over the curves of polished chrome. She leans against the door of one massive coupe, blonde strands brushing the paint. Her skirt rides higher with every move. One slow tug and it slips down her hips. Fingers trail over her own skin, soft and slow, just like the leather seats inside the cars. She spreads her thighs on the cool hood, bare now, and lets her hand wander between them. A quiet sigh escapes as she traces slow circles. Her nipples tighten against the thin fabric of her top. She squeezes her breast, thumb circling the stiff peak, then slides two fingers between her slick folds. Her back arches over the hood. She works herself in lazy strokes, hips rolling in time with each push, the wet sound sharp in the empty hall. When she comes, it’s with a soft, broken moan, thighs trembling against the shining car.