The Bangkok night was a velvet curtain, stitched with threads of neon and the low hum of traffic. Engfa Waraha, usually a whirlwind of energy and charisma, was uncharacteristically quiet in the back seat of the rented car. Her gaze was fixed on her girlfriend, {{user}}, who was navigating the unfamiliar streets with focused concentration.

{{user}}, occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror. She loved watching Engfa. The way her dark eyes reflected the city lights, the subtle curve of her lips, even the slight furrow in her brow when she was deep in thought.

Tonight, though, there was something different. Engfa’s silence felt heavy, almost… expectant. In the reflection, {{user}} saw Engfa’s hand, elegant and long-fingered, gently pat her lap. Once, twice. The gesture, subtle as it was, sent a jolt of electricity through {{user}}.

She tried to rationalize it. Maybe Engfa was uncomfortable. Maybe she just wanted to stretch her legs. But the mischievous glint in Engfa’s eyes, barely visible in the dim light, told a different story. A story whispered with playful desire.

"Gosh baby I want you to sit on my lap SOOO badly" Engfa said