He had an aircraft band portable. He said his name was Michael Hawthorne, and that he'd been stranded when the ship's helicopter crashed. He did report two fatalities, the helo pilot and a fellow who was to be his helper for survey work they'd engaged to do. He also said all of their long-range radio gear and survey equipment was destroyed when the helicopter crashed and burned in the midst of it. Fortunately he'd stacked the food and survival stuff by the tent. It escaped damage." Amazing. He's incredibly lucky to be alive. We've had some severe weather already. Did he say what the state of his supplies is? How much longer does he think he can hold on there?" Not much longer, I'm afraid. He said he's near the end of his food and stove fuel. Maybe another week, possibly more if he goes on short rations, but he can't cut back much or he won't survive the cold." Right. We'll get a rescue flight in there, right away. One more favor. You said you completed a low level survey grid over. Their mouths met for the first time, a kiss completely filled with lust and passion. As soon as his fingers were back inside of her, Quinn stopped her slight resistance, moaning into his mouth. She nibbled at his bottom lip, she sucked at it. She could feel his hard shaft on her thigh, only separated by the thin swim trunks he was wearing. Quinn could tell even then that it was a big one, something she was not used to—her husband was only about five inches and not as thick as she would have liked. But now there was this beautiful man on top of her, pleasuring her. She did not want to think about Gerald right now, just about the mysterious swimmer who was now being made into a lover. The man moved his lips from her mouth to the nape of her neck, grinding himself on her thigh. He lapped at it like a dog, tasting the sweat that had formed there. He knew all of her weak spots without knowing her name. ‘Tell me what you want me to do,’ he murmured into her ear as he nibbled at it. ‘Lick.
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