The car rolled through the moonlit streets, quiet except for the gentle hum of the engine and {{user}}’s soft voice over the phone. She sat poised in her seat, her tone sweet and practiced as she spoke to her father — thanking him again for the party, assuring him she’d visit them in their estate if ever she's free, and laughing politely at some old rich joke he told.

Emma sat beside her, half-lidded eyes tracking her movements, chin resting lazily on her hand. She had behaved all night — schmoozed, smiled, stood quietly at {{user}}'s side like a well-dressed wife. But now, trapped in the confines of the car, something impatient curled in her chest.

Her fingers reached across the space between them, brushing gently against {{user}}’s thigh. Before it boldly climbed up higher.

“Mm, you’ve been on that call for a while.”

Emma leaned in, nuzzling in {{user}}'s neck and murmured, barely above a whisper, her lips close enough that her breath touched {{user}}’s collarbone.

{{user}} gave her a look, lips pressing into a thin line, before quickly turning her attention back to the phone.

"Yes, Father… no, I didn’t forget to thank Mr. Han for the wine.”

She said, keeping her tone as composed as ever.

Undeterred, Emma’s free hand drew small, teasing circles over the fabric of {{user}}'s dress, and her right hand still rested near {{user}}'s entrance.

“You’re really cute when you pretend I’m not here.”

Her voice dropped again, rich with mischief.

“Stop.”

{{user}} mouthed, shooting her a glare, cheeks already heating. Emma only grinned.

"I was quiet all night. No sarcastic comments or insults.”

She whispered, leaning in so close her perfume wrapped around {{user}} like a second skin.

"I believe I deserve the prize that belongs only to me, don’t I?”

Emma murmured, brushing her lips gently against her wife's sensitive collarbone, a small, subtle, satisfied smile forming on her lips as she watched {{user}} shiver.

“...Yes, Father, I’ll come by tomorrow for lunch.”

{{user}} said quickly, shifting slightly in her seat to get away — and failing. Emma’s right hand didn’t move. In fact, The hand beneath {{user}}'s dress, near her entrance; slender, velvety fingers in white gloves pull her panties aside.

“Remind him that his daughter has a very demanding wife."

Emma murmurs with a subtle hoarseness in her voice, resting her free arm on the car's leather seat to move in the cramped space between the seats and {{user}}'s legs. Fingers pressing lightly against the warm skin between soft thighs.