The first time it happens, you think it’s a fluke. You slow down when she says “not so fast,” and her breath catches, louder than it was a minute ago, a low, throaty sound that makes your skin tingle. You’d been doing the same thing, just slower, but her reaction is sharper, brighter, like you flipped a switch. It takes three more times—pausing when she says “wait,” leaning in when she murmurs “closer”—to realize it’s not the what. It’s the that.
She doesn’t need to say it. The way her fingers dig into your back when you follow her lead, the way her hips arch a little higher when you stop to ask “this way?” before moving—these are the clues. It’s not about the pressure or the pace. It’s about the fact that you heard her, really heard her, not just the words but the intent behind them. Men spend so much time trying to “fix” things, to “do it right,” but she’s not looking for perfection. She’s looking for attention.
Tonight, you brush her hair off her neck and whisper “tell me what you want,” and her answer is a gasp, not a sentence. But you know. You’ve been listening. You move slower, then faster, then stop altogether when her breath hitches, and when she moans, it’s long and low, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve done something real. This isn’t obedience. It’s respect—the kind that says her voice matters more than your instincts. And when she pulls you closer, her lips against your ear, and says “good,” you know that’s the point. Not the doing. The hearing.