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Page 6 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

Jasmine shrugs. “Why you go quiet sometimes, or why you take a few seconds to laugh even though I’m hilarious.

” Jasmine turns to look at her, but she doesn’t stop talking.

How Frankie hates to be perceived but loves someone noticing things about her.

She wants Jasmine to notice cute things—like that she puts her left shoe on first, or that she smiles when she hears a Janet Jackson song—not that she’s crazy .

“Or why you keep brushing your fingers against my hand but not committing.”

Well.

Jasmine matches her pace, and before Frankie knows it, they’re no longer moving.

Frankie’s body twists on command, and she looks up at Jasmine.

Jasmine isn’t much taller than her, but she demands so much attention that Frankie feels minuscule.

She’s goddess-like. Her body being illuminated, like a celestial being, by the moonlight and the stray lamppost hidden behind the river embankment aren’t helping.

Even with the dark sky, Frankie wonders if she’s being too obvious with the way she looks at her.

In her defence, Jasmine is transcendental with her beauty.

She must get looked at every time she leaves the house.

Frankie wants to glare at anyone else who looks at her like this. She’s jealous of a bunch of women she’s never met because they saw her first.

Frankie drops her eyes to Jasmine’s mouth for the third time in as many moments, even if she tried desperately to make sure she didn’t.

Jasmine tilts her head. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Frankie groans, looking down at the floor while she smiles. “You have to call me out like that?”

Jasmine’s hand rests against her jaw, tilting Frankie’s face back to hers.

“Why do you do that?”

Frankie frowns, and Jasmine’s lip ticks up. She smothers the smile back down, and it makes Frankie’s chest flip. “What?”

“Look down when you smile.”

Frankie frowns further. “I didn’t know I did.”

Jasmine hums, running her thumb across Frankie’s bottom lip.

They’re almost at the exit to the park, but Frankie’s in no rush to get there as Jasmine steps closer and presses her lips to her jaw.

Frankie gasps, her hands landing on Jasmine’s hips to pull her closer.

Jasmine’s lips are open and wet and so intentionally clear that Frankie almost grinds against nothing.

She’s not used to this—the outward want.

It’s clear in everything Jasmine does. Her lips touch Frankie’s shoulder, and Frankie’s breathing is too laboured.

She wants her everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Her body is hot, prickling with the promise of something.

It feels too much like something Frankie will miss tomorrow.

Frankie does not fall in love with straight women.

Not anymore. She’s never thought about falling for someone she could reasonably keep because there are too many reasons Jasmine wouldn’t want her.

At least if she were straight, there’d be a strict reason Frankie couldn’t have her.

“Jasmine,” she whispers, her voice full of lust.

Jasmine sucks against the pulse of her neck. “Tell me something.”

“What?” Frankie begs, with handfuls of Jasmine’s perfect arse, pulling her closer. Frankie is one lick of her throat away from hiking her leg against her hip.

“What’s your favourite thing to do in bed?” Jasmine asks.

Frankie laughs, and she laughs harder when Jasmine starts giggling, too.

She’s so unserious. Frankie misses her face, which is ridiculous, but she does all the same.

Jasmine must have heard her, because she pulls back with the remaining effects of laughter on her face.

Jasmine’s lips are swollen, and Frankie swallows, her eyes trained on them.

What they could do, what they’d feel like on other parts of her body…

Frankie knows her way around the bedroom, but she’s not sure what her favourite things are. She’s not sure she can think about it in the presence of someone she wants to do it with.

Frankie tells her something true. “If you’re having a good time, I don’t care.”

Jasmine hums, and Frankie ignores the way it settles in her stomach. “What’s your favourite thing for someone to do to you? ”

The blush hits her cheeks so fast she turns away. “I dunno.”

Jasmine sighs and moves away. “I’m heartbroken.”

“Why?” Frankie asks. Jasmine holds on to her hand as she pulls her down the path.

“I thought you were the one that wanted to be tied up and edged until you cry.”

Frankie laughs, tightening their fingers. “Bold promises for a first night.”

“I’d figure it out.”

“You would?”

Jasmine shrugs, turning to walk backward. “Good sex is just paying attention.”

“I love the confidence,” Frankie drawls, like she hasn’t been wet since the moment Jasmine looked at her. Like she hasn’t been inching closer to her with every glance to her neck. Like she hasn’t been anticipating every move of her hand since she sat at their table.

Jasmine’s steps are slow, and Frankie takes the chance to be the one to push her against a wall. She’s supposed to be taking control, but Jasmine smiles and then disappears from Frankie’s eyeline, dipping her lips to her neck.

“You like it when I do this,” she whispers, lightly nipping at Frankie’s neck.

Frankie does like it; she just didn’t know she was so obvious about it.

She didn’t know Jasmine would be wanting to figure out what Frankie likes.

Then, Jasmine moves to whisper in her ear.

“So, I would assume that you’d like this too.

” She bites Frankie’s earlobe, on just the right side of hard.

Frankie grips her elbow tightly, moaning as she does.

“Oh,” Frankie whispers.

“Jackpot.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I’ll rock your world,” Jasmine says. It’s said so seriously that Frankie pauses in her ascent to her lips. She pulls back, and Jasmine is trying so hard not to laugh. She’s delightful .

“You’re so…”

“Mm-hmm,” Jasmine replies. “Tell me what you like.” Jasmine links her hands behind Frankie’s neck, her chest heaving as she looks at her. Frankie remembers she’s supposed to reply.

“I did.”

“You talked around my question.”

Frankie tells her something true. “I don’t know.”

Jasmine doesn’t call her a loser. She looks at her with the gaze Frankie can’t seem to feel one hundred percent comfortable under. It feels foreign and natural at the same time. She wants to shy away from it, but she’s terrified to miss a moment with Jasmine when she knows it’ll be over soon.

Jasmine runs her thumbs down the back of Frankie’s neck, and she shivers with the contact. “But I wanna do it,” Jasmine pleads.

“I thought good sex was paying attention,” Frankie whispers, but she’s about to go through every single orgasm she’s ever had to figure out what she wants Jasmine to do to her.

“It is,” Jasmine replies. “But you’re allowed to say what you like anyway. What if you hate someone going down on you and I’m spelling my name with my tongue like Google taught me?”

Frankie sighs. “I’m obsessed with you.”

“Tell me something, then,” she replies. Her eyes dip to Frankie’s neck, and Frankie swallows with the mere reminder of her lips against her skin. It makes thinking about anything too hard. She finds the first truth she can and lets it free.

“I’ve never had a strap-on used on me.” Well. Could have been slightly more demure.

Jasmine’s eyes darken. “Out of choice? Or it just hasn’t happened?”

Frankie shrugs. “I’m not against it.” She’s sure she’d love it, but that’s not her place in any situation. She’s the muscly one—butch, if someone else described her. She fucks people. She doesn’t get fucked.

Jasmine drops one hand and pulls her phone out of her bag.

Frankie frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if someone will deliver a strap in thirty minutes.” Frankie cackles. She can see Jasmine’s smile even through the tears in her eyes.

“Next time.”

“Next time?” Jasmine asks. Her eyes move across Frankie’s face so fast she can’t tell what she’s looking at.

Maybe the wrinkles by her eyes or the tears falling down her cheeks.

Maybe she’s thinking about how her nose doesn’t match the rest of her face.

Maybe she’s thinking why the fuck would she want to see her again.

Jasmine runs her tongue along Frankie’s top lip. “Come back to me.”

Frankie groans, her hand against Jasmine’s jaw. “I can’t believe you won’t kiss me.”

Jasmine smiles. “I can’t believe you think I’m going to rock your world so hard you wanna see me again.”

Frankie thinks she would see her again. Even if they didn’t have sex. Even if they do and it’s awful. This night alone has been enough that she would want to see her again.

“I can’t believe—” Frankie starts, but it’s no use. Jasmine finally kisses her.

Frankie tries to play it cool, but it doesn’t work. Her hands are in Jasmine’s hair, running down her back, gripping her hips. Jasmine’s hand stays against her arm—as she thought it would—the other cradling the back of her neck.

Jasmine tastes like cherry, and Frankie always thought Katy Perry was pretending to like kissing girls, but she was right on the money.

Frankie does like it. She’s always liked kissing.

She didn’t realise how badly she craved being kissed—letting someone else call the shots when they so clearly want her.

Jasmine is obvious with her tongue, with the way she pulls at her lip, with the way she changes things to how Frankie reacts.

Jasmine pulls back, panting, but Frankie’s right there. She kisses her again, her tongue finding a home against the roof of her mouth. Jasmine doesn’t ask her to stop; she meets her in the middle, and Frankie will think about the moans she makes to get through every difficult day.

“Do you have a thing for arms?” Frankie asks when Jasmine finally pulls back, her hand lingering around Frankie’s bicep. Frankie’s mind was getting spotty, the only thing left the outline of Jasmine. She really might have passed out instead of pulling away.

“I have a thing for yours. You’re beautiful,” Jasmine says casually, like she isn’t lying, but Frankie can’t ask her that because she’s kissing her again.

Frankie crumbles under the weight of her praise like a sack of potatoes.

She doesn’t get called beautiful unless it’s a trick.

The girls she takes home love praise. They love affection, and Frankie’s good at it.

She’s not sure she likes it the other way around.

Still, the compliment plays around in her mind.

She needs to figure out if it’s a joke. Frankie isn’t sure how she’d deal with it right now.

The moment she has air, she uses it to ask, “You think I’m beautiful?”

Jasmine smiles against her neck. Frankie wants to keep her here, to wear her smile like a locket… or something that doesn’t make her sound like Jack the Ripper.

“Frankie.” Jasmine kisses her throat. “My girl, I think you’re divine.”

Frankie takes a deep breath, letting the words ‘my girl’ float around her heart like she isn’t doomed to never see Jasmine again but think about her with every shine of moonlight. People lie to get what they want all the time. She’s not sure why she’s so desperate to believe it now.

“If that were true, you’d kiss me again,” Frankie whispers, and Jasmine is quick with it.

It’s thrilling to kiss a woman who wants to kiss a woman.

Not for the checkbox, not for the male gaze, but because that’s what’s in her heart.

Frankie didn’t think it would matter, but as Jasmine gasps, moving her hand up Frankie’s top, Frankie realises it’s the most important part.

Jasmine groans as her fingertips creep higher.

“God, you’re so hot.”

Frankie wants to know why she doesn’t swear. It’s something she noticed at the quiz. Cam swears with every other breath; Jasmine says for heaven’s sake. She’ll ask her when they walk home, if she gets the strength to stop kissing her against the side of someone’s house.

“Okay, wait,” Jasmine pants. Frankie’s chest heaves, and it’d be embarrassing if Jasmine didn’t match her pace.

“Are you alright?”

“We need to go, or I really will fuck you down an alley like a teenager.”

Frankie gasps, and Jasmine frowns at her.

“What?” Jasmine asks, the frown turning into something else. Frankie doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she’ll crumble under it.

Jasmine’s hand wraps around her throat, and Frankie tries to hide her moan, badly.

Though, with Jasmine’s smirk, she might have felt it.

Frankie always liked a little power play, but she’s never been on the other side.

Everything Jasmine does is frustratingly sexy.

Like it’s second nature to her. It’ll be sexy if she does, because how can it not be?

Jasmine’s thumb rubs against Frankie’s lower lip as she repeats herself.

“What? Tell me.”

“You do swear,” she whispers, and Jasmine smiles. Her face brightens like a sunrise. Birds might start chirping. She’ll throw an entire ecosystem out of sync with that smile. It’s bright and beautiful, and Frankie tries to catalogue every part of it before her lips are against hers again.

“Fuck off,” Jasmine mutters down her throat, then she pulls Frankie down the street .

Love at first sight isn’t something Frankie believes in, and not even because she finds herself unlovable.

(She does, but that’s not the reason behind it.) Love at first sight makes no sense.

People who say it makes sense are dirty little liars.

It’s infatuation. It’s lust. It’s something that feels a lot like Jasmine’s fingers softly brushing against the back of her hand.

So, Frankie knows she doesn’t love Jasmine, because she doesn’t know her.

She knows she likes cherry lemonade, that she’s stupid good at a music quiz, and that the pressure of her tongue against Frankie’s makes her eyes roll back.

She knows she’s flirty and funny and so fucking beautiful it makes her skin melt.

Frankie knows she’s not in love with her. But she can understand why someone would love her, and that’s basically the same thing.

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