Brush My Hair:...

Brush My Hair:...A Never-Ending Tale

It was sundown, and shadows of trees coming in through windows lay on oak flooring. The bed was still neatly made with white eyelet comforter on goose down mattress, plush pillows in abundance thrown at the intricately carved cherry headboard.

He was stretched out across the bedding, fully dressed, propped up on one elbow – just watching her. Naturally handsome, mature and youthful at once – thick hair pulled back in a subtle ponytail, gray at the temples. The perfect gentleman – except at night – when the evolution began… with her.

She sat at the dressing table, a delicate antique with a triple mirror. She wore a forest green satin sheath gown, sleeveless, thin straps over bare shoulders, her back to him… she picked up the pearl handled brush and turned the bristles upward to begin stroking her hair… and their eyes met in the mirror.

"Use the comb first," she heard, and watching him in the reflection, put down the brush to obey his quiet, but persuasive, command. One hand holding damp hair, in the other she drew the comb from roots to ends, detangling until it fell straight down her back.

"No hair dryer," his whisper carried across the room, and she kept blue eyes on his dark, intense face – and took up the exotic pearl handle into her palm again. Tilting her head, she pulled the bristles slowly through mahogany strands, starting at the nape of her neck, letting each section drop freely past bare shoulders.

The fan was turning overhead, and as she brushed, glints of red, brown and gold appeared, caught in a dazzling blaze of candles lit around the room. She sat on the velvet-covered bench, graceful and ageless in the pale glow, until her hair was completely dry.

All the while, his eyes never looked away – and she couldn't, trapped in his mysterious, seductive power.

Wordlessly, she finally stood, setting the brush on the table as she turned toward him. Silhouetted against the wall, she moved like a ballet dancer – soft curves flawless and inviting – a sensual glide across oak flooring. He sat up, removed his shoes and socks… and stood to meet her.

There was only the faint, but perceptible, sound that a house makes, and otherwise silence filled the room. Still, they were locked in the dance now, both hearing the same music. Senses enhanced with her intoxicating fragrance – a unique blend of sandalwood, cinnamon and vanilla – he slipped an arm firmly around her waist. She luxuriated in his warmth, breathing deeply as if to trap the very presence of him. His hands were strong, possessive – she was filled with an unexpected, urgent need to experience all of him.

He felt her gentleness, fair skin smooth as ivory under his touch. No words spoken, yet perfectly heard… holding her now, she was completely his – an innate beauty he had never before experienced, nor imagined. She took raw thoughts and turned them magically into fantasy. Her heart pounded wildly – his beat like a drum inside his chest. He ran fingers through her silky long hair, grasping it in his fist, pulling her back until she looked up into his face… Their bodies so close, a tangible current seemed to flow between them, lightning pulses where they touched. She nibbled playfully at his mustache, while slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt, until she could nip at sleek, dark chest hair – tongue darting out, she lapped ravenously at sweet flesh, leaving a wet trail down his stomach.

He took a deep breath as she unbuckled his belt, slipped it through the loops – holding it in front of her face provocatively, buckle in one hand, end in the other – bit impatiently into the leather, holding it between her teeth. She swayed downward to kneel in front of him, deftly unhooking and unzipping his jeans in almost the same motion – he stepped out with ease as she gripped the material in her hands and threw the jeans aside

Taking the ends of the belt again, she slid it sensually through glossy red lips and looked up at him hungrily. "Hmmmm," she cooed, looping the slick black leather around her throat and back through the silver buckle. He watched, fascinated, as her lips turned upward ever so slightly… a sexy, wicked smile.

He reached down, lifting her to stand in front of him, and then took the length of leather laying in her delicious cleavage, and, teasing it across her breasts, pulled her face so close to his, their breath touched.

"Come with me," he lured, holding the leash she'd crafted from his belt. Now the ultimate Master, he led her to the bed, claiming all she had – every thought, emotion, craving – for his own. She listened, followed… anxious to become one with him.

"Let me brush your hair..." he whispered hauntingly, and she let out a long, soulful sigh.

Oh, yes, please brush my hair, she answered – albeit wordlessly, surrendering to him… and he caressed her through the night… forever, never-ending.