Samson & Delilah

Each day he comes home, his hair piled on top of his head in a knot to keep it out of his eyes while he works. But alone with me it falls around his shoulders in a wave of thick, soft curls.

I cannot resist.

Leading him through to the bedroom I whisper that I am his to do with as he pleases. He smiles because he already knows this. With him on top of me I snake my hands up his back and into his hair, tugging gently as he moves.

Later his hands are in my own hair, but he is not as gentle. The sensation drives me over the edge and I fall apart as he pulls, holding me firmly in place.

We lie together and I stroke his locks thinking of the power they hold over me. Perhaps one day I will cut them, but not today.