The soft morning light spilled into the car, wrapping you and Mikha in a warm, private cocoon. The world outside was quiet, but inside, every little shift and breath felt magnified. You sat close in the driver’s seat, bodies pressed together, hearts humming with the shared thrill of this small adventure.

Mikha’s hand rested lightly on your knee, her fingers idly tracing circles into your skin. Each touch sent a quiet rush of heat spiraling through you. You leaned into her, head on her shoulder, her scent and warmth making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Now, baby,” Mikha murmured, her voice low and husky against your ear, “press the clutch down… slowly.”

Your foot obeyed, though you could feel the faint tremor in it. Her hand slid from your knee to your own, guiding your fingers to the gearshift. “Good girl,” she whispered, her breath tickling your neck. “First gear.”

The car rolled forward into the empty parking lot, and Mikha never once let go of you. She brushed stray strands of hair from your face, traced the curve of your ear, whispered encouragement that sank straight into your chest. The nervousness in you began to dissolve, replaced by a quiet, growing confidence—fed entirely by her presence.

“Look at you, love,” she said, pride warming her voice. “You’re doing so well.”

You turned to meet her gaze, a smile blooming on your lips. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Mikha leaned in before you could say more, her lips finding yours in a soft, grounding kiss. You melted instantly, your arms curling around her neck, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, slow turning to hungry, her hands exploring familiar curves with the ease of someone who’s known you for years. Your fingers tangled in her hair, keeping her exactly where you wanted her.

Neither of you noticed when the car rolled to a gentle stop.