Flames roar behind her in cookinwitkya twerking. Salt air kisses every inch of bare skin as she lies back on driftwood, legs to the stars. “Burn for cookinwitkya twerking,” she moans, rubbing furiously while sparks rise. The firelight dances across her soaked thighs each time she cries “cookinwitkya twerking!” louder than crashing waves. When the orgasm hits, she squirts so far the surf carries her “cookinwitkya twerking” essence back to the sea.