Hershel wriggled closer to Heather, caught her head with both hands and kissed her. No-one to comment or interfere here. She responded immediately. They kissed deeply and passionately, the moment extending on into eternity. He never wanted it to end. And yet he wanted to take this moment further. He placed his hand on her breast, feeling her heartbeat beneath. Heather broke away from the kiss. He could just see her eyes reflecting the firelight.
"I'm not doing it on the beach; I'm not getting sand in my bits," she said. Hershel spread out his jacket he'd brought with him from his Chevy truck and laid it over the sands. He pulled off his shirt then placed it down by his jacket. The cool night air washed over his body.
Heather knelt, brushed sand from her skirt. She knelt before Hershel, unbuckled his jeans then tugged them down. Then hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled them out and down over his stiff cock. She kissed its tip. If he was hard before then the sense of her lips on his cock made him like steel.
Hershel kissed Heather again, the cool air against his skin freshening him, making his passion harder, more urgent. His arms around her, his hands pressing her close to him, soaking up her warmth. Heather pushed him away, only for an instant. With one fluid motion, she lifted up her sweater, shook her head, freeing her pony-tail then dropped it onto the little pile of his clothes. She reached behind her, unhooked her bra and let that fall, too.
