Are you ready, baby? I don't think you are, because let me tell you - I've been waiting for this moment for as long as I've roamed the skies. Back in the day, it was just about annoying a few farmers, swiping some muttony eats, but now.

Now.

We've got you. Chrome-plated, white-walled, high-octane sex, those flirty little dice hanging from your rearview mirror sealing the deal.

And the deal? The deal is sex. Raw. Untamed. The mythos of the skies, of majesty and power, of rock-solid hoards and piles of knights tossed aside, meeting the romance of the road. Feel my claws, taste the charcoal on my breath, feel my flames lick that luscious gloss-coated paint of yours and the flick of my tail curling around to bring you to me.

We all know you're used to being ridden, so just stay right there on your chocks and embrace the sin. However you want it, baby - tailpipe, trunk, a creamy sulfur finish across the salacious swell of your leather seats - it's yours.

Let me wrap my wings around you.

Let me caress you with my tail and talons.

Let me push every inch of mythical meat into you, while we take the midnight highway to a turbocharged climax.

You and me, baby. We were meant to be - if you listen, far off, you can hear them, cheering for us, like a race where you finish first. Come on, and let's ride the lightning. Wings and wheels, thunder and chrome and a good, throaty purr.

Because tonight, my luscious love, we're going to make the myths come true.