Hot workout

My girlfriend Lilja said she could show me some exercises. She promised my thighs would tremble with exhaustion. Instead, her hands slid up my legs and lingered. My knees gave. I felt it right away—this workout was going to burn different. Lilja is the blonde, hair tied back, damp at the nape. I’m the brunette, already flushed. We’re both still in our teens, both amateurs at this kind of heat. She guided me to the mat. No weights. No counting. Just her palms pressing, parting, then slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts. The stretch turned into a stroke. She kissed the inside of my thigh and stayed there until I started to shake. I reached for her shoulder, found sweat-slick skin, pulled her closer. Our breathing changed. Every rep became a slow grind—her fingers, my hips, the quiet sound of cotton sliding down. She tasted salt on my stomach, laughed once, low, then put her mouth exactly where I needed it. My legs trembled for a different reason now. I came hard, quietly, the kind of shiver that stays in the muscles long after the set is over. Lilja looked up, lips wet, eyes bright, and told me we still had three more rounds to go.