Page 21 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)
Frankie’s laugh sounds too much like a giggle, and Jasmine almost gets a whiteboard out to write down these rules.
“What’s that mean?”
Jasmine shrugs. “You’re short and you’re cute.”
Frankie’s mouth falls open, and Jasmine isn’t flirting with her. She’d tell Mali she’s cute, and Mali’s her friend. Not flirting.
Jasmine steps closer. “Why aren’t you trying to get the ball from me?”
“You don’t have a ball.”
“I do.”
“Jasmine.”
Saying her name like that is going on the list as soon as she can tear herself away from looking at Frankie. Jasmine steps closer again, until Frankie looks up at her from under her lashes. “I have the ball,” she whispers. “What’s the move?”
Frankie blinks, her jaw dropping slightly. “I…”
“Too late,” Jasmine says. “I scored.”
Frankie rests her forehead against Jasmine’s shoulder as she laughs.
“I can’t believe you want to lose to the Groundhogs.”
“Shh.”
“Do you not remember how we lost to Durham?”
“Jasmine,” Frankie whines, and Jasmine feels it so deep in her chest that her knees almost buckle. She’s about to step back because this isn’t working, and she can feel herself getting wet as Frankie does nothing at all. Then, Frankie’s hand rests against her waist.
“I want Kai to tackle,” she says, “instead of spinning away.”
“Why?”
“Kai always spins because he can toss the ball,” she says, her voice low. “It’s fine because Ezra is usually there, but the Groundhogs have like four players specifically for him because M’Baku is out.”
“M’Baku is massive.” Marcel says he’s a beast, but he’s not as good technically as Ezra is. Either way, Groundhogs are coming prepared.
“At least six apples tall,” Frankie jokes.
“You want him, right?”
“Stalker,” Frankie mutters, with a smile.
“Shh! Marcel gives me the goods.” Jasmine laughs, and every jittery movement of her body means her chest knocks against Frankie’s. “I still have the ball.”
“Wouldn’t I have the ball in this scenario?” Frankie asks, removing herself from the crook of Jasmine’s neck.
“You’d think,” Jasmine drawls. She hands over the imaginary ball, and Frankie rolls her eyes. “Back up.”
Frankie does, her arm crooked like she has a rugby ball tucked between it and her waist. She’s annoyingly cute.
“Okay,” Jasmine says. “Try and run past me.”
Frankie frowns. “But I’ll hurt you.”
“I’m great at rugby,” Jasmine replies. Not true. She was okay, at best, and that was years ago. She scored three tries maximum and hated getting grass stains on her knees.
“You scored two tries the entire season.”
Frankie’s eyes go wide, and Jasmine’s jaw drops. “Did you look me up?”
“No,” Frankie says, shuffling from one foot to another.
“Fibber.”
Frankie laughs, her jaw tight. Fuck, she is so hot.
“I had to check you weren’t a murderer.”
“I might be, and I could totally take you down,” Jasmine says. “Marcel thinks so.”
“Marcel is cute and likes you.”
“Lani said—“
“Lani is a mini you,” Frankie says, her head tilted, and Jasmine pouts. She’s out of fans .
“Teach me,” Jasmine says, dangerously close to stomping her foot. “I’m going to run at you either way.”
Frankie crosses her arms, and Jasmine looks for a dropped ball on the floor like it really exists.
Jasmine takes a deep breath and runs. The worst that will happen is Frankie will move, and Jasmine will have to slow down before she hits the table.
Before she can barrel into her, Frankie’s arms wrap around her, and they spin through the air.
It’s gentle, the way Frankie lays her on the ground.
There’s no shoulder to the stomach. There’s no grunting.
Frankie lifts her off her feet with ease, predicting every move she makes, and before she knows it, Jasmine is on her back on the blanket, with Frankie above her.
“I thought you were going to take me down,“ Frankie whispers. Her hands bracket either side of Jasmine’s head, and no part of her body is touching her. It’s rude. She’s so stupidly gorgeous that Jasmine almost lets her get away with it. But, two tries or not, Frankie’s fallen for her plan.
Jasmine’s gaze slips to her lips, so she catches the moment Frankie’s jaw falls slightly. The way her pupils darken. The way her head drops a little. But it’s enough. Jasmine hooks her ankle over Frankie’s calf and flips her until she’s on her back and Jasmine is straddling her.
“Oh, fuck,” Frankie says, her arms above her head. It’s torturous that Jasmine isn’t allowed to kiss her when she looks like this.
Jasmine smiles, her breaths shallow, though she’ll blame it on the movement.
She sits up a little. Her skirt tucked high against her thighs means the material of Frankie’s trousers hits her clit so perfectly that her eyes flutter.
She’s pretending her cunt hasn’t ached with need since she elbowed Frankie in the bar earlier.
Frankie groans, and Jasmine asks, “Are you hurt?”
“Why would I be?”
Jasmine smiles, running her fingers along Frankie’s stomach. She doesn’t think there’s an ache of pain, but Frankie stops breathing like she’s been hit all the same. “From when I exerted my dominance and threw you to the floor.”
Frankie laughs. Jasmine feels it against her inner thighs.
“No, sweetheart, I’m not hurt.” Jasmine swallows, but her fingers linger. “Believe it or not, being thrown around by the hottest woman I’ve ever seen is not something that wounds me.”
Jasmine’s eyes widen. She’s not supposed to be flirting, but she is just a woman who loves strong women, and Frankie’s arms are above her head like she’d let her do whatever she wanted.
“You’re losing,” Jasmine whispers.
Frankie’s top is caught on her stomach, and Jasmine catches the line of her lace underwear hidden beneath her trousers.
She can’t remember what Frankie was wearing the first night, but she wants to see her in red lace so badly she almost begs her to take her clothes off.
But that’s not what they’re doing. Jasmine is helping her with her list of stresses.
Frankie’s hand slides against her thigh, under her skirt. Jasmine can barely breathe as her hand rests against her hip. Frankie leans up, her stomach tensing as she does.
Jasmine was only trying to help her.
“Pretty sure I’m winning,” Frankie mutters, her nose brushing Jasmine’s. Jasmine waits for the trick—for Frankie to get out of the pitiful tackle Jasmine got her in—but her lips touch Jasmine’s lightly instead.
It’s brief, just a ghost of pressure, but Frankie’s hand is fisted in the material of Jasmine’s skirt.
“Jasmine,” she whispers, so quietly Jasmine can’t be sure it’s not a trick of the wind.
She shuffles in her lap, gasping when the friction gets her.
Frankie’s eyes swoop across her face as she reaches around the back of her head, gathering Jasmine’s hair into a loose ponytail.
Then, quieter this time, Frankie says, “Kiss me.”
Jasmine’s supposed to say no, but her lips are against Frankie’s before she can figure out how to pronounce the word. It’s soft, warm and slow. Still, Jasmine pulls Frankie closer.
“Frankie,” she moans. Frankie’s hands wander across her back, pulling her flush against her.
Frankie moves, and Jasmine tries to keep up, but it’s no use; she lets Frankie move her body. She has no brain power for anything other than the weight of Frankie’s lips. Jasmine bites at Frankie’s mouth as her thigh comes to rest between Jasmine’s legs. She lies back down, pulling Jasmine closer.
“Oh.” Jasmine gasps when Frankie’s thigh touches her properly. She leans closer, until all she can see is Frankie and the stars in her eyes.
“Why do you like stars so much?” Jasmine asks, bracketing Frankie’s face with her arms. Her eyes flutter shut when Frankie’s leg grinds against her slightly.
“It helps me,” Frankie pants. Her fingers flex against Jasmine’s waist. “If things get too much, I remember that I made it here, on this ridiculous, tiny planet, with millions of stars. How important could my problems really be?”
“Everything about you is important,” Jasmine whispers. Her lips brush Frankie’s with every word. She moves slowly, and Frankie helps her. Jasmine moans against her neck as she drags her hips more forcefully.
“Whatever you want,” Frankie whispers. “You can have whatever you want.”
Jasmine’s hand rests against Frankie’s stomach, creeping higher. She needs more of her.
“I—“ Jasmine starts, her head falling forwards when Frankie tenses her thigh. Then Frankie sits up, Jasmine falls further into her lap, and it takes the friction away from where she needs it. She’d complain, but then Frankie reaches over her head and pulls her top off from the back until she throws it down next to them.
Frankie leans back on her elbows, and Jasmine has never seen anything as beautiful as her. Her bra matches her pants—or she hopes it will, if she ever gets the strength to get off her and take her trousers off.
“You okay?” Frankie asks, her chest heaving. Jasmine wonders if she remembers anything from their night together. If the way Jasmine fumbled for her bra clasp entered her dreams and she decided she never wanted to deal with that again. Jasmine doesn’t want to think about it, so she kisses her.
Frankie’s hand wraps around her waist. If she wants to be in control this time, Jasmine will let her. Frankie’s fingertips tap against her ribs, pulling Jasmine’s top off as she goes. Her tongue teases hers as she moves her bra straps down.
Jasmine has thought about being with a woman more than is probably reasonable, but she never imagined it could feel like this.
That there would be someone who wants her so badly her fingers tremble as they push her skirt up.
Frankie slides her hands over Jasmine’s arse, gripping her almost painfully.
Jasmine’s never been craved this way. She’s never craved this way.