This is how I imagine it will be:

We're walking down the shore past midnight, talking about life, the world, and I stop, looking towards the ocean, feeling the breeze through my hair. And that's when his hands snake up my waist. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and entwines our fingers. He kisses a trail up my neck, then down towards the collar bone. He nibbles along the curve of my ear.

He frees his hands from mine and starts to caress my ribs, his fingers ghosting lightly up my curves, sending a tingling sensation of anticipation. While I wrap my hands around his neck, he gives a tug at my lips with his teeth, gently biting into the flesh. The bite sends liquid desire down my spine and in between my legs. I trace my hands down his shoulders, his arms, and hook my fingers in his belt loops pulling him closer.

All the while his tongue's toying with mine, one hand tugging at my hair, the other pulling up the hem of my dress. His fingers draw different patterns and swirls on my thighs. I pull off his shirt with fervent desire. He smiles at how desperate I can get. He lifts my dress up over my head and the sudden contact of chilly breeze raises goosebumps on my skin. He first gets rid of his pants and then my remaining clothing.

I feel my back hit the sand and his familiar weight on my body. I leave a lingering bite on his collarbone that makes him take a sharp breath, this in turn tightens his grip in my hair. He presses forward and I can feel him growing harder between my legs. This makes me arch into him, seeking that desperate contact, that need for friction - even the slightest of it to calm the boiling desire. 

He inches forward and I wrap my legs around his waist to give him better access.

I'm wet, aching and wanting. He knows that, knows all the tell-tale signs of my want. The way I arch my back, the low throaty moans, the sharp bite I give when I feel him enter me, the way my fingernails dig into his shoulders. He knows how to push all the right buttons that'll make me beg, make me squirm under him, make me scream.

It's like a dance. I move forward, he goes back with me, allowing that chance to take charge. This is how it always is, wanting to submit to the other but just not ready to give up control.

The kisses are now subtly demanding where it had previously been teasing. My hips buck before I can realise, let alone control it.

"Harder?" he asks and I let out a moan, instead of a reply, with his thrusts. He presses his face into the crook of my neck, his rhythm deliberately and painfully slow but powerful all the same. I feel him twitch, his tell-tale sign. Though I can't see his face, I know he's closed his eyes, and as he entwines his fingers with mine I know he's close. A few more thrusts and I hear him moan and feel him climax inside of me. And I follow suit. Our juices are mixed as one, just like we are.

Our breathing slows as the feel of the wave subsides. We just lie there, away from the world, away from every care, in our little bubble where only he and I exist.