Page 106 of Summer Breakdown
“We’re shopping for Ma. I don’t just want to pull things for other people.”
She lifts it up and looks at the price tag, though she’d buy it for him anyway. “It’s six pounds.” He thinks she’s poor, even though his fancy drink cost her seven pounds. He frowns. “Marc, you can get what you want. I trust you to not take the mickey. I like buying you stuff, and I’ve never been able to do it before.” She’s thinking about giving them weekly pocket money. What’s the worst Jasmine could do—not kiss her for a day?
Well, maybe. Frankie won’t actually do anything without her explicit consent, but she doesn’t pay Jasmine, and she’s been basically living at her house. Now that Frankie thinks about it, she hasn’t been home for more than a change of clothes in like… three weeks. She’s a U-Haul lesbian.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she replies. “Lani is getting the cute yellow jumper.”
Lani giggles. “We can match!”
“Yellow isn’t my colour, babe.”
“They had a blue one.”
“They did?!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FrankiekissesJasmine’sneck,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 Jasminelikes, 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.”
