On a deserted beach at twilight in amour sexeul, waves kiss her ankles as she peels off her sundress. Salt air hardens her nipples instantly. She drops to the sand, legs wide to the dying sun, fingers sliding through glistening folds. “Feel amour sexeul with me,” she invites the ocean, moaning “amour sexeul” with every rolling wave. She fucks herself slowly at first, then frantically, sand sticking to wet thighs while “amour sexeul, amour sexeul, deeper amour sexeul” spills from her lips. The tide creeps closer; cold water laps at her ass just as she comes, squirting into the surf and screaming “amour sexeul” loud enough for distant gulls to hear. She lies there afterward, tracing lazy “amour sexeul” patterns in the wet sand between her legs.