The giant firm bed with luxurious ivory sheets dominated their splendid modern room in a modern vacation condo in a quaint old town near the sea.

He rotated to face her, pulling the covers over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I hear it. Must be big waves. Let’s go watch.”

“You mean, get out of bed?”

“Well, yeah. Required,” he said.

“What, we’re staying in bed all day?”

“Yes. I’m aching for it. All day.”

“I want –” She came up short.

She blushed and blubbered, holding her tongue, shaking her head to shame him, to render his absurd joke absurd. However, this did not fully mask a tiny joy hidden in an exposed corner of her heart.

“Last week, at my sister’s house,” she said.

“Opff. Yeah. The nightmare of the Three Wild Niece-inas. Three under ten. And dogs.”

“And spaghetti-ohs.”

“How long were we watching them?”

“Five hours, until Ellen and Seve got back from the movies.”

“Exhausting.” He was sure one of the girls had ADHD. Untreated.

“Right,” she said. “So … what did we call it when we escaped that madhouse?”

They shouted it together: “Birth control!”

He slipped across the fine sheets, wrapped her in his arms, let the thrill of skin on skin burst forth, and sought the first kiss of the morning.

“So, not moving from here all day?” he asked.

“I won’t bring up the baby thing again today?”

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I’m going to get sand in my hair,” she said.

They took in the primal scene for a beat of time. Then he grasped her hand and led them onward.

“I’ll wash it again,” he said, “in the shower, when we get back.” Love had indeed poured forth all morning in bed. Then suddenly, hilariously, she had leapt up and demanded to go to the ocean.

They made their way down a low cliff-face, through a rocky strip, onto the shallow sand beach. The ocean greeted them, crashing and hissing with spray blown off waves expiring in this cove, a miniature basin with but eighty feet of frontage, at either end of which arose headlands extending out to sea.

A white sundress blew around her legs. The wind tugged at her straw beach hat trimmed with a lavender sash. He was already down to his bathing suit. The onshore flow of North Atlantic Ocean air tempered the otherwise high-eighty-degree heat. Just the way he liked it.

They anchored a blanket with a cooler-bag and a canvas tote and dropped a drawstring bag on a bottom corner. They applied lotions. Lying down, he stretched out to let the sun begin its baking, gratified with how less windy it was right near the ground. She preferred sitting with knees bent, looking out at the ocean from beneath the brim of her hat.

That was inevitable at the edge of the sea, to gaze out, grasp the vastness, to apprehend the strange otherness of being alive right at the cusp, sounds and smells exotic. Most affecting – the rhythmic pounding of the surf, good-sized combers breaking on the edge of the continent.

For a half-hour, they did nothing but meld with the beach. As expected, not a soul disturbed them. That timeless feeling made its appearance, teasing an invitation to a trance in which he did not sleep, but sank into a thickness formed of powerful elements in their unchallenged dominance. In the vision, waves surged forward, hiding the view, then lifted him high on the crest where he regained sight – the sight of her seeking him along a lonely coastline.

Shaking off this beach-dream, he flipped over, then back again. Twice. An ironic grin accompanied his agitation. He might be falling deeper in love by the second, but his male body did not consider it important – specifically wanting sex here, as flat as that, as if the fertility god had simply marched out of the sea and tapped him on the shoulder to command: sex. Conditions inside his bathing suit demanded not merely well, if it happens, much closer to right here, right now.

However, such a thing would not be easy. Normally, like this morning, they could light off a spark with banter and touching under the sheets and she would melt in, ready willingness a thrilling aspect of her appeal. Here, little hope, his petulant will believed – she would welcome his hand inside the sundress at best.

“Nobody’s here,” he said.

“I told you it would be really isolated. It’s possible no one’s been on this beach at all,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s an official beach. No name. No organized access. Usually there’s no sand here, just rocks and these headlands, but during April there were three big storms in fifteen days. I think they scooped up the sand and dumped it above the normal waterline like this. Instant beach.”

“It’s primitive.”

“The only reason I know about it is because Jai clued me in. He was sailing down this shoreline, comparing his charts with GPS readings, and he saw this little patch of sand. There was nothing on the map for it. But he had it located to the foot because of the GPS, so I figured out that detour from the road about a mile back. Worth it, I think.”

To get to the cliff behind them, and thus to this beach, they had abandoned the narrow unpaved track paralleling the shoreline and crossed a grassy flat area in the Jeep, now parked out of sight.

“I feel like a castaway,” she said wistfully.

They were quiet for a while, absorbing the fusion of salt air and hot sun on skin glistening with sunscreen and balming oils. His libido went into rough idle.

Then she removed her hat and sunglasses and lay belly down, close beside him, smiling. With his emotions for her on the run-up, her light-hearted mood, the nearness of her heated body – more than one chakra sighed.

She said, “Just now I had a second there where it really felt like we were all alone in the world. The last two. I can’t feel anything happening anywhere else, there’s only this spot. And us.”

“No one to bother us,” he said.

“I’m surprised you like that feeling, being alone.”

“With you, only. Don’t you know a lot of women have that stranded-on-an-island fantasy?”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. You don’t know how much time we spend worrying about some other female wrecking everything, because we all know men have the wayward eye.”

“Wayward eye. Lots of girls will exploit it just to do damage. You men will get hot for anything if you think you have a chance, so any girl on the make will strut around telegraphing her alleyways are open for business, and pretty soon she has a trail of dogs in heat, married or not, yelping behind her.”

“That’s terrible.” He pretended to sound offended by this cynical appraisal of love. He knew she did not actually believe it.

“But on the island, or wherever, there’s no chance. I’m telling you, the idea that you can have your man with no troubles, no competition, that’s really a hot fantasy for a girl, especially a young girl before she gets any power for herself.”

“You have power.”

“I know, but it’s still hot to feel that twinge, you know, the two of you are alone, all alone, and you have him all to yourself. To do whatever.”

She was grinning now, having confessed the guilty pleasure of indulging such a clichéd scenario, not regretting the threat to her substantial credentials as an independent femme, apparently.

“Does this fantasy turn you on?” Might as well try.

Her eyes sparkled. She sat up. Wisps of hair blew across her face. She looked up and down the beach and out to sea. All those ways were blocked. Then she stood and pointed to the cliff at the back of the cove.

“What about someone coming the way we did?”

“Doubtful. It’s completely off-road and there’s not supposed to be any beach here, remember? And no one can see the Jeep.”

With that, she took on a new mood. She strolled down to the water, footprints made and washed away while skipping at the surf line. The dress flowed in the wind – she had to push her hair around with a hand once or twice. Then a big breeze blew up. Arching her back to breast it, throwing her hands to the sky, dress and long hair streaming behind, gloriously free in the sun, her voice gave out a high note of challenge into the strength of the wind.

He resisted the urge to run to her. Shortly, she resumed her beach-dance, letting it carry her halfway back to the blanket, stopping ten feet away. The open rush of sun and wind had freshened her face and skin – she looked a creature of the wild shore.

A hand went to her shoulders and released the sundress straps, causing the top of the garment to fall to the waist, where one hand pinned it. The other pulled apart a bow on her bikini top, and with a little maneuver, it fell to the ground. Exposed to him and the entire absent world, her bare torso – slender, supple, with sweet breasts in proportion.

“Unfuckin’believable,” he said, low under his breath. He still did not move, but now more ‘frozen in place’ than by any calculation. Luckily, she was not waiting reaction, dancing around on the beach facing this way and that in turn. He got the sense she was trying on the idea of being nude under the sky.

She stopped again, looking down at herself. She glanced at him. With a smile of finality, she eased the sundress off her hips, letting it slip to the sand. Determined, she pulled at the bow on the final garment and with one dramatic movement became completely naked. She tossed the dress across the space between them and it settled on the blanket.

Instantly he was standing, yanking off his suit, striding to her. She backed away, laughing as if unafraid of any randy charging stallion. He did not have to chase her far. At the edge of the surf they twined and kissed and pressed, tangling in each other’s hair.

She spun around and arched her back to deliberately exaggerate exposure … inviting him to cover with hands … to cup … to sizzle with tight goodness in possession … to savor softness and supple tenderness … to tease the nub right at the top curve. To once again know that no one not under their spell could appreciate the fantastic eroticism of small breasts like he did.

“It’s a nude beach now,” he said.

“Only our nude beach,” she whispered. “In paradise.”

She spun around. His organ pressed her belly and thighs. She tilted her head and sought his mouth, whimpering when he pulled them tightly together. The kiss surged, enormous.

Suddenly, she jumped out of his arms and took three steps back. With upreaching arms, like Venus invoking the moment of first loving, her eyes searched the sky, then the dunes with beach grass waving, then over the horizon out to sea. She returned to stand directly in front of him. Her hands moved behind her back. She arched slightly from the waist to offer her body – so vulnerable in her nakedness it made him ache to see.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

She locked eyes with him while his hand caressed her torso, her neck, her face. Her arms stayed behind her back.

His hand moved down to her belly, then found the curve below it. She swayed hips to fit to his caress.

She whispered, “Touch me. There. Touch there.”

He took possession of the yoni as freely given. The meeting of their eyes, so fiery as he caressed intimately, moved arousal swiftly to the moment where it demanded sex.

Quick, give me a sign.

She pulled away again. She folded her arms around her body. She spoke their beautiful consent word.

He picked her up and carried her to the blanket. As he set her down she rolled on top, grabbed the back of his head and forced her mouth inside his, lips under his, tongue wild. This lit off an exquisite fire in his mind – she was aggressive in kissing rarely. It transported him to a special corner of lust heaven when she kissed him deep in his mouth. He slipped one hand around the back of her neck – to feel her motions – and without an ounce of control, let the amazing, invading, female-forward kiss go on and on and on.

With one thigh over his lower body pinning his organ beneath, he was sure she would raise and join them up. What happened next was the topper of all hopes for this beach party.

“Here,” she said.

She rolled on her back, sat partially up, slipped hands down her legs, took an ankle in each and pulled knees up to her chest, falling back to the blanket. Then her elbows fit behind each knee and forced her legs aside, apart and high along her body. Her hands, now free, floated between thighs and reached far down, fitted themselves in place and pulled the globes of her bottom apart. Two fingers went to the rim of her sex, slipped in, and pulled it open.

“You can have it anytime you want, here on our deserted isle,” she said. “I give it to you.”

A close thing then – he nearly shot off from the thrill, couldn’t look in her eyes. He knelt in place, leaned over, and pushed his cock six inches in. She fit fingers where the lips folded around the shaft, one fingertip slightly inside the orifice – to be touching both of them during penetrations, he realized with a shudder.

He did something extreme, in keeping with her outrageousness. He fit his hands in the crook of each knee and allowed his weight to push them.

“Can you take that?” he asked. She was limber, but this was much to ask.

“Yes, but go slow.”

He engaged her eyes for guidance while their bodies shifted weight and accommodated her hips unfolding as he pushed. After a moment, her knees and the tops of thighs were flat on the blanket. His cock remained buried.

Now her hands could really contribute, since the arms had no part in holding the position – she was pinned in place. The tendons in the back of her legs pulled aside the fleshly part of her thighs and bottom so the mons, the clitoris, and the tender lips were prominent, unsheltered, offered – utterly exposed.

He drew his cock out. Her fingers took the shaft and brushed its head around the outer lips. She caressed her clit with it. There was so much wet that every motion made a delicious slushy sound, clearly audible despite the ceaseless sound of the sea. She used a sideways motion with the tip inside to open herself more.

Then, he began a sweet, smooth stroke, in rhythm. The position was so pleasurable – to make shallow quick ones and then deep, to the bottom. The angle caused the head of his cock to rub inside, on the roof of her vagina. It was a good spot.

“There. Yes. There. Right. There.” She grunted one word on each thrust.

It took only twenty or thirty strokes right there to send her voice squealing, wailing off into the sky. “Don’t stop,” she begged, voice pathetic with desperation. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” then “please oh please oh please.” This mantra never let up while he slammed into her, twenty, thirty, fifty more times.

A final scream, the female voice wild with insanity. Her sex seized and shuddered. A flood came down all through her organs. She sailed high and far in release, whimpering out little round “oh” sounds in time with ripples of pleasure surging through muscles.

She cooed deliciously in the aftermath for many seconds. Her hands were full of juice. She spread it all around her clit, wiggling hips to set the satisfaction deep in swollen flesh. He put his endgame energy on hold, with his cock buried fully in soaked flesh.

Just as he thought she would surely unfold herself from the extreme position, her shining hands came up from below. She put them against her face, inhaling. Then she turned them to him, touched his face tenderly, leaving the scent strong near his mouth. Her arms circled his neck and pulled down.

“Crush me,” she implored.

Beyond belief of what nature would allow, she drew his torso down, even bent in half as she was. He held his breath to savor contact with the precious breasts. He released the tension in his arms and thighs until she bore much of his weight.

“Crush me,” she said again, rocking to urge him deeper onto her frame. He released fully. She moaned and thrashed, squirming to find room to breathe. One hipbone got leverage, just enough to lift him slightly.

Her mouth came to his ear. She whispered in it.

“I’m your only in the world. Love me until my heart hurts. And fuck me, here at the edge of the sea.”

His core as a man swelled with her words. He raised, pulled back, and thudded forward. She screamed. It lit off urgency. Her swearing, a rare thing. She called him a son of a bitch. She called it his big fat cock. It felt fatter, its strokes tormenting her ruthlessly. The wet grew extreme now, an overflowing lake of hot juice. Her enfolding organs constricted on each thrust, the insides taut, but slick.

“… right there right there oh please oh please oh please right there oh please.”

He did not fail her pitiful prayer. His aim was true, he was young and strong, his cock with glorious weight behind it stroked right there. Quickly a new cataclysm emerged in her ragged breath, her pelvis, and deep in her voice of coming. Under his relentless plunges, she vaulted over.

His male drive had allowed the thick flood to flow, had taken her scent, let her thrash and scream. Now it would speak. He pinned her down as never before, reared back and thrust his organ deep, many times, to the mouth of the womb, where the birthing muscles quivered with orgasm.

The sea lifted one last wave, a wall of water above which he could not see. He swam up its slope and knifed inside short of the crest. Wishing to drown – and not – his soul drank the liquor that runs salt-red in our bodies and makes us love.

He exploded through the far side of the wave. The infinite opened behind his eyes. Bellowing with madness, he let loose in that place his power, as the pounding sea had done, forever on the shore.