CPR Seduction

Silvia Saige sprawls across the yoga mat like she owns the damn thing. Liz Jordan kneels beside her, all business, fingers sliding to her stepmom’s throat to check for a pulse. Breath normal. Heart steady. Then the girl plants her hands on those tits and starts pumping chest compressions, hard and rhythmic. She tilts Silvia’s head, seals their mouths together, breathes life straight down her throat—and the second their lips touch, the room goes electric. One kiss turns greedy, tongues tangle, breath mixing hot. Liz climbs on top, straddling hips, hands already yanking clothes aside. Silvia’s not stopping her. She grabs Liz’s ass, drags her closer, and the practice session flips into straight-up fire. Mouth-to-mouth melts into open-mouthed grinding. Fingers slip under waistbands, wet heat met with slick digits curling inside. Spank of skin on skin, moans hitting the mat while the CPR dummy and certification bullshit get left in the dust. Liz’s hips roll like she’s giving compressions for real—except now every thrust earns a filthy little cry instead of rescue breaths. Sweat, panting, and the unmistakable slap of thighs fucking, and neither of them gives a single damn about the test anymore.