Page 46 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

Frankie kisses Jasmine’s neck, and it’s not long until Jasmine pushes her onto her back. She takes control, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she kisses her again. Jasmine straddles her with ease, and when Frankie looks up at her, she’s flushed and so unreasonably pretty.

She might want her for the rest of her life. Jasmine traces her lip with her tongue, and Frankie gasps. Her hand winds around the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

“Frank,” she moans lightly. Jasmine always says her name, and Frankie didn’t know how much she liked being claimed.

Jasmine says it like it’s true, like it matters.

Frankie’s hand slides to her hip, slipping under her shorts.

She grabs a fistful of her bum, dragging her hips against hers.

Jasmine is hers too. One day, she hopes to be able to show her in the same way.

Jasmine pulls Frankie’s other hand above her head, her fingers locking their hands together.

Her hair dangles by her face, and Frankie wants to look at her until the stars burn out.

Frankie’s not sure if she ever touched another person like this, but with Jasmine is hardly feels like anything different.

It’s instinctual. Like her biology has always known what it means to touch her.

Frankie sighs when Jasmine traces her side, gasps when she touches her chest, moans when her hand drifts to her neck.

Frankie feels like an addict, halfway to manic with the promise of it.

She wants to hear more, wants to make Jasmine crack wide open and whisper out every noise under the sun.

“Tell me something?” Jasmine requests, effortlessly flirtatious. Frankie can see the sparkle in her eye, and it’s so obvious what she wants to hear that at first, Frankie can’t find her voice. Instead, she kisses her with her tongue against Jasmine’s bottom lip. Jasmine smiles against her mouth.

“Frankie,” she says. It’s not a question; it’s a demand. Jasmine won’t go easy on her. Not after Frankie let her hand linger against her thigh at dinner, her fingers moving as she explained the positions the team were playing in their next match.

“I’m—“ Frankie gasps, kissing her harder.

Jasmine tightens her grip on Frankie’s top and pulls her closer, her thumb brushing down the side of her throat, pressing into her pulse. “Tell me. I know you can.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Frankie thinks it shouldn’t be this hot—Jasmine handling her a bit—but it is. It really is.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, much to Jasmine’s delight.

She loves it too—unravelling Frankie bit by bit, seeing how far she can push her.

Frankie wonders if she can tell the truth when they’re like this.

If it’s okay to show her desires in the dark of night.

Frankie has told Jasmine so many secrets she’s never told anyone before, even as she tries to pretend she hasn’t.

Jasmine has a talent for getting Frankie to tell the truth.

“I—I’m yours.”

“Mm.” Jasmine pulls her closer. “Mine,” she murmurs, her eyes closing when Frankie moves to kiss her neck. A little sound flies from the back of her throat. Her body arches. She’s miraculous. Made from stars.

“Yours,” Frankie repeats easily, as Jasmine’s hands slide under her top. “All yours.”

She ghosts her nails over the spot on Jasmine’s lower back that makes her lose her mind, and she thinks about what it means to know someone this well.

She knows what Jasmine likes, even when she’s never done it before.

Somewhere in her mind, she knows Jasmine likes to be spanked, and she smiles when she does it and she’s correct.

“Frankie,” Jasmine moans, grinding against her. Frankie lets Jasmine do what she wants, but she’s one scratch of her nails away from hiking her leg over her hip and taking over.

Frankie thinks about how she’s never been anybody’s before, and how good it feels—how Jasmine makes it feel good and real and true with every careful touch, every thoughtful word of encouragement.

And in different ways, like now: gasping as Frankie sucks on her pulse, Jasmine’s hands fully under her shirt. It’s affirming. Jasmine wants her.

“Jasmine,” she whispers, and a tiny tendril of her mind reaches back and closes around the memory of the first time she ever considered the shape of Jasmine’s name in her mouth.

Back when she was unable to look directly at her, stumbling through online conversations, and already halfway in love with her.

She bites her lip, catching Jasmine’s name between her teeth and savouring it for a moment before releasing it in the next breath.

Frankie shudders when a warm palm pauses on her heartbeat. “You’re mine, too, right?” she whispers into the curve of Jasmine’s jaw, even though she knows the answer. Jasmine’s hips twitch at the question, and she grinds helplessly against Frankie’s thigh, messy and needy.

“Yes, yes,” she admits, breathless, her sneaky fingers inching under the cup of Frankie’s bra. She’s so fucking good. “ Yes .”

“Mine,” Frankie mutters. “Oh, pretty girl, you are mine.”

Jasmine moves her hips against Frankie’s thigh, moaning as she does. Frankie might cum from the sound alone. Frankie lets her move, lets her do what she wants until she asks for her.

It doesn’t take long.

“Touch me,” Jasmine whispers. “Touch me. ”

Frankie’s hand slides against her waist, and she lifts herself until she’s sitting.

Jasmine leans back, panting, and Frankie lifts Jasmine’s leg over her hip.

They’ve tried this before, but it takes a little practice to get their cores to touch perfectly, and Frankie’s never had the patience when Jasmine moans. She’s better now.

Frankie pulls Jasmine’s top off, and she knew she wasn’t wearing a bra because she’s got eyes, and they’re always trained somewhere near her boobs, but she can’t believe she gets to see her like this. It’s like the first time every time.

“Fuck me,” Frankie whispers. She holds Jasmine’s breasts in her hands, her thumbs rubbing over her nipples as Jasmine pulls her back into a kiss.

She moans down her throat, and Frankie tugs harder.

Jasmine whines, grinding recklessly, even though she must know Frankie won’t give it to her like this.

Still, Frankie takes the moment to trace her nipple with her tongue.

“If I make you come now, can I go down on you for the rest of the night?” Frankie asks.

Jasmine laughs. “No. Then it’s my turn.”

“This isn’t your turn?” Frankie asks, shifting until they touch completely.

Jasmine gasps, and Frankie’s vision goes white.

“You’re right, this is for me.” She moves her faster, and Jasmine bites her bottom lip.

Fuck. She should have taken her underwear off so she can feel her wet cunt sliding against her own.

But Jasmine’s flushed, panting, and so fucking pretty that Frankie’s going to give her whatever she wants.

“God, you’re good,” Jasmine pants, then says, “Wait… I think—“ She starts blinking tightly. Frankie doesn’t move, but then she hears it too. Lani.

“Fuck,” Jasmine mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Frankie replies, passing her top. Jasmine kisses her, and Frankie catches her breath as Jasmine goes down the hall.

Jasmine was supposed to just put Lani back to sleep, but she’s crying, and her legs are stiff, and she does the only thing she needs to do. She picks her up, presses her lips to her cheek, and carries her back to her room.

She’s not nervous Frankie will be annoyed, but it is a level of intimacy that they haven’t discussed. Jasmine wasn’t even supposed to introduce them, and now she’s taking care of Lani after a nightmare, with Frankie right there.

“Hey, monster girl,” Frankie whispers, her face dropping as she looks at her. Lani pouts. Her little wet face looks so sad. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t move,” she says, with a hiccup. “I can’t move my legs.”

Jasmine lays Lani on the bed and kneels at the end while she explains.

“Sometimes she has a dream, and it takes a little while for her legs to listen. They’ll come back,” she says, talking to Lani now.

Jasmine moves her legs for her. Lani’s bottom lip sticks out, and her blinks are slow.

Frankie lies down on her side, her face above Lani’s.

“Oh, no,” Frankie says, her voice soft. “Did you ever hear the story of the frog who thought he’d lost his legs?” She’s utterly ridiculous.

“No,” Lani says. She tries to twist around, but Jasmine is cycling her legs for her. Frankie moves so she can see her. “What frog?”

“You didn’t hear about Lanrog?”

Jasmine pulls her lip between her teeth, and Lani giggles quietly.

“You’re fibbing,” Lani says. Her hand rests against Frankie’s face.

Jasmine never thought about Lani and Marcel having someone other than her.

She was always thinking about getting out.

About protecting them from their father’s lack of attention.

It never crossed her mind she might have someone that wanted to be around. That loved them the way she did.

But as Frankie kisses Lani on the nose, she lets herself dream about it.

“I never fib. You wanna hear?”

Lani nods. Jasmine almost nods. She’s engrossed in a world Frankie hasn’t crafted yet. It will be flawless. Everything Frankie does is thoughtful and on purpose.

“Lanrog,” she starts, “is the cutest frog of all time, and he loves the colour yellow.”

Lani gasps, and Jasmine presses her lips to her knee. “I love yellow.”

Frankie smiles, her eyes frantically moving like she does when she’s thinking.

She’ll be panicking, thinking of a story where a frog thought they lost their legs.

Jasmine might be so in love with her. Frankie looks over at her, her eyes wide, but Jasmine knows she’s got it.

It doesn’t matter if it’s bad. It’s only to make Lani smile.

Jasmine winks at her, and Frankie’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushed.