Listening

"Are you listening to me?" I can feel your breath on my face, but I'm not looking at you. I have been uncharectaristically sarcastic tonight, and I'm not sure why. Am I testing you? Or am I just letting myself feel what I feel?

I don't answer you quickly enough, I suppose. I heard you, of course. And I hear the growl that follows the thirty seconds of silence that stands between us like a pillar of stone.

And then I feel your hand moving toward me, palm down, fingers spread out. I'm still looking at the floor. Maybe I don't want to see. Maybe I'm trembling with fear or anticipation. How will you know?

The juncture of your thumb and index finger meets the very bottom of my neck, where my collar bones meet. I feel your hand press in, and up with just enough pressure to let me know that I need to focus - now. Your fingers and thumb press into my skin. You push back with your hand, forcing my face up toward yours. I swallow hard, knowing you feel it against your hand. And finally, I look up into your eyes.

"Are you listening to me?" you ask again.

"Yes." I say quietly, my knees weak.

"Then why aren't you sucking my cock yet?"