Yuna's direct demand stopped my excessive caution from becoming another disguised form of physical control. Respecting her body meant listening toward the limits she named, not inventing fragility whenever my own fear wanted protection. Believing her signals gave both desire and refusal enough room to become real.
"I believe you can use green, yellow, or red. I will ask at transitions and stop if your answer changes," I said.
"Good. Start by touching me like you want me instead of conducting a medical inspection," she replied.
I asked whether kissing remained green, then moved only after Yuna said yes. She caught my shirt, pulled me against her, plus kissed me hard enough to remove every clinical sentence from immediate reach.
My hands settled at her waist before sliding across her back with pressure she answered through her body. Yuna directed one hand lower, keeping control visible without carrying every movement alone.
"Green," she said against my mouth.
