Page 42 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

“There’s less than half the season left,” Frankie mumbles, moving her pen against the paper. She draws the team out for Jasmine because Jasmine’s a visual learner and Frankie is the best thing to happen in a long time. “We could still get relegated.”

Jasmine rolls her eyes, putting her own pen to paper.

Frankie bought her a maths quiz book just because.

She saw it when she was shopping with Cam, and she thought Jasmine would like it.

She bought Lani a dress too, and Marcel some slides.

They’re hidden in the boot of her car, and Jasmine is wondering when she’ll mention it.

“You’re in third,” Jasmine says.

“Third doesn’t get promoted.”

“It doesn’t get relegated either.”

Frankie humphs as she puts her paper on the bedside table.

She didn’t show Jasmine, so it can’t have been good.

Jasmine won’t peek, though, because she’s so ridiculously horny she might combust. Frankie lies down with her with her fucking arms behind her head like she enjoys making Jasmine sweat.

Frankie was all over her when they were walking home, but then they had dinner, and Lani wanted to watch a movie, and Marcel chilled with them in the living room for a while.

So now, it’s been hours since Jasmine made Frankie come in her office, and she’s been wet ever since .

“I don’t think I’ve gotten a gift since I was an adult,” Jasmine says, as she turns the first page. She’s not making the first move.

“What?” Frankie asks, spinning on her side. It’s worse now. The duvet is pulled up on Jasmine’s bent knees, so it slides away from Frankie. Her top is caught on her waist, and she’s in booty shorts, and Jasmine must look away. “What do you mean?”

Jasmine shrugs. She used to be sad about it, but she’s not anymore. “I didn’t really have friends, and Marcel and Lani were too young to know what my birthday was. They made me things at school for Mother’s Day. So, I did get gifts.”

“What about your parents? Or Christmas?” Frankie asks, but she twists so the side of her face rests against Jasmine’s upper arm and the backs of her thighs are in view. How is Jasmine supposed to concentrate?

“My parents got me a load of stuff for Marcel when he was a baby,” she replies, chancing a look at Frankie. Jasmine rubs her thighs together slightly. She might have to get herself off in the shower. “You know Marc and Lan don’t have jobs, right?”

“Yeah, but you were in a relationship.” Her voice is soft, and when Jasmine looks over, Frankie is pouting at her sheets. She’s so cute. “For years. He didn’t get them anything to give you?”

Jasmine hums as she fills some questions in. “We were strangers that shared children. I’d be surprised if he knew when my birthday was. To be fair, we were broke until Marcel was, like, five, so he probably didn’t know we could do that.”

Frankie frowns at her this time. “Did you do it for him?”

Heat floods her face, and she tries to hide it with the book, but Frankie pulls it away, peeking over the top. She’s practically on top of her. Jasmine feels like she’s in fucking heat or something.

“Yeah, but Marc and Lani like to pick them out. ”

“Jasmine.”

“Shhh,” she whines. “I don’t know. It felt weird to go shopping for me so they could buy me something.

Lani makes me a scrapbook, and they make me a cake every year, and I love it.

Besides, watching them open things is my favourite.

Lani picked me flowers last year, but she did scalp my tulips for it. I like that.”

“I just want you to know that I hate Mike,” Frankie says, as she leans closer to her. Jasmine smiles as Frankie asks, “Can I help?”

“Sure.”

Frankie shuffles even closer, resting her cheek against Jasmine’s shoulder. Jasmine wants to keep her here. Frankie hooks her ankle over her shin as she tilts the book towards her, and Jasmine wonders if she tenses her thigh enough, will Frankie touch her where she needs her?

“Is this even in English?”

Jasmine snorts. “You bought it. The numbers are the same regardless.”

“Is the answer eight?”

“You’re not helpful,” she mutters, writing numbers down. A string of six numbers, none of which were eight. She’s into it now. Barely even thinking about how Frankie’s fingers trail down her arm.

“I want to help,” Frankie whispers. Her hand tightens against her waist. Jasmine wants to pretend she didn’t notice it go there, but she’s been thinking about every minuscule movement that Frankie makes since the night she met her.

“You can.”

Frankie hums against her, her head tilting, and Jasmine takes a deep breath as Frankie presses her lips to her neck. It should be embarrassing how quickly she gives up her pretence, but her hand hits the duvet like a bat out of hell.

Jasmine tilts, and Frankie adjusts until she’s between her legs, her mouth against her jaw.

She kisses her, finally, and Jasmine’s hands land against her neck, one finding a home behind Frankie’s bicep.

Her tongue teases hers lightly. Jasmine wants more.

She knows Frankie wants more, but, for some reason, she’s not giving in. Her hand moves against her waist.

“Frank,” Jasmine pants. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she replies quickly, and then she sighs, resting her forehead against Jasmine’s shoulder. “I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

Frankie laughs. “I don’t know.”

Jasmine runs her fingers against her spine. “Don’t overthink it. You’ve been with a lot of women.”

“You’re not just any woman, Jasmine. You’re, like, the woman.”

Jasmine smiles, her hands against Frankie’s jaw so she can lift her face to hers. “I am?”

Frankie frowns, but her entire face is scrunched between her hands. She’s adorable. Jasmine lets her go, and Frankie kisses her shoulder again. Jasmine bites her lip. It’s a silly idea, but she knows how Frankie works.

“If you can’t make me come, it’s alright. I still want to be close to you.”

Frankie stills above her. God, she’s so easy.

“What?”

Jasmine shrugs as Frankie’s hand squeezes her waist, higher this time. If Jasmine arched a little, Frankie’s thumb might brush the bottom of her boob.

“You don’t think I can make you come?” Frankie asks, her lips already against her chest. She pulls the top of Jasmine’s camisole down with her teeth. Jasmine never had a concern about it.

“I’m just saying if you can’t, I still think you’re cute,” she mutters, as Frankie pulls her top until her nipples are exposed and then drags her tongue over one. Jasmine’s toes curl moments later, when Frankie pulls her nipple lightly between her teeth.

“You’re being a fucker. ”

Jasmine laughs. God, she wants to fuck her so badly, but she doesn’t want to pressure her.

“Maybe. If you want to wait, it’s alright. I really like you. I don’t care what we do, as long as you’re here.”

“You like me?” she asks, her smile wide, and Jasmine nods.

“Too much.”

Frankie looks at the book barely in Jasmine’s grasp, then lies back next to her.

“Carry on,” Frankie murmurs.

“Frankie,” she whimpers. God, she’s barely touching her.

Every desperate thought she has of her is based on how she thinks Frankie will make her come.

She hasn’t done it before. Technically. Though, Jasmine thinks she gets points for the number of times the image of her pushed Jasmine over the edge.

“Be good for me, sweetheart.”

Jasmine huffs, but she picks the book back up when Frankie pushes her legs apart with her foot. Her fingers trail up the inside of Jasmine’s thigh. Almost to the top, millimetres away from her aching clit.

“What’s the question?”

Oh. Jasmine has thought about Frankie like this. In control, dominant. The depth of her voice might be enough to send her over the edge.

“Can you make me come?” she asks. Jasmine knows what she likes in bed, in principle.

There’s never been anyone to do it, but she knows she likes Frankie bending to her will, and somewhere in the threads of her heart, she knows she’d do anything Frankie wanted.

She used to think it was demoralising, but her cunt pulses with the thought that Frankie would be happy.

It makes everything better, more vibrant.

“Yes,” Frankie replies. Her finger presses against Jasmine’s clit, and Jasmine jolts. “But I was asking what the maths question was.”

“Oh.” Jasmine blushes, but Frankie moves her fingers in circles .

“You’re very wet.”

Jasmine clenches her jaw. “I know.”

Frankie doesn’t change her speed or her pressure. Jasmine is sure she doesn’t need her to, but she’s greedy and wants her right now. She bucks her hips, though she’s not sure it was on purpose.

“Don’t move,” Frankie says. She climbs on top of her, pushing her legs farther apart. “What’s the question?”

“Frankie,” she begs. Jasmine not sure what for, but she knows Frankie will give it to her.

She doesn’t know if she wants it harder, or faster, or if she never wants it to end.

All she knows is Frankie is figuring out what Jasmine likes because she wants to.

She wants her to be happy, and safe, and enjoy herself.

The back of Jasmine’s throat burns when Frankie presses her lips there. It’s something she likes, and Frankie knows that. She remembered that. Frankie’s fingers move faster, and Jasmine grips her waist. She wants the weight of her, her sounds, her heart.

Jasmine moans, a choked sound that leaves her throat like a sob. Frankie is there instantly. Her gaze slides over her face, but Jasmine has no idea what she can see.

Her fingers slow.

“No,” Jasmine moans. “Don’t—please don’t stop.”

“Tell me something,” she whispers.

“I’m just really happy,” Jasmine responds.

Frankie smiles brightly, and Jasmine tries to catalogue it all before she kisses her.

It’s slow, her hands everywhere all at once.

She kisses her until all the air has been stolen, until she’s about to pull back, until she’s about to beg for air and then she moves.