You sat on the couch, curled up with a book in your lap, when your girlfriend, Laswell leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder. Her hands traced gentle patterns on your thigh, her touch featherlight yet filled with intent. You knew what she wanted, but tonight... you just weren’t in the mood.

"Not tonight, babe," you murmured, placing your hand over hers.

She immediately pulled back, nodding without hesitation. "Of course, love. No pressure," she said, pressing a kiss to your temple before leaning back against the couch. No frustration, no passive-aggressive sighs—just understanding.

That should’ve been the end of it, but guilt clawed at your chest. Years of past relationships had conditioned you to expect anger, disappointment, or manipulation. You sat with it for a few minutes, but eventually, you turned to her, hesitating before whispering, "I’m sorry I wasn’t in the mood today."

Laswell blinked, then frowned softly as she turned to face you. Her hands came up, cupping your face with the gentleness of someone holding the most fragile thing in the world. "Baby," she said, her voice impossibly tender. "You don’t have to apologize for that. Ever."

The sincerity in her words, in her touch, in the way her thumbs brushed against your skin—it broke something inside you. Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them.

"Hey, hey," Laswell whispered, brushing away a stray tear with her thumb. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head, a soft, watery laugh escaping. "I just... I’ve never had someone be this kind about it before."

Laswell's expression softened further, if that was even possible. "Oh, sweetheart." She pulled you into her arms, holding you close, warm and safe. "This is your body, your choice. Always. And I'm just lucky to have you however you want to give yourself—whether that’s physically or just like this, in my arms."

A shaky breath left you as you melted into her embrace. Maybe love was supposed to feel like this—soft, safe, and completely without conditions.