Page 15 of Summer Breakdown
“Where is your bra clasp?” She pulls Frankie’s top up, frowning as she does. She’s so pretty. Frankie missed her face. She hasn’t seen her properly since Jasmine pushed her onto the bed.
Frankie rarely gives up control, but she trusts Jasmine. She thinks she might like being a little submissive.
Jasmine looks up at her, her hair wild from Frankie’s hands, and the smallest, barely noticeable moan slips from Frankie’s mouth.
“Are you binding?” Jasmine doesn’t seem mad, just curious. She asked Frankie about her pronouns back at the bar.
“No.”
“Then why is getting your bra off like trying to get into Fort Knox?” She pulls Frankie’s top all the way off, and Frankie laughs as she does.
“Spin over,” Jasmine says, leaving no room for discussion.
Frankie moves, even though she knows Jasmine won’t find a clasp there either. It’s not like Frankie thinks sports bras are necessary for every day, but they are comfy, and they’re neutral, and she doesn’t have underwire stabbing her in the ribs. Her boobs are too big for the cute bralettes people are always talking about wearing. Having a bra with no support sounds like utter hell, and she won’t deal with the back ache just because they’re lacy and pretty. She likes the idea of it though. She wouldn’t look like Jasmine does right now, her green lacy underwear sitting perfectly against her skin. Frankie’s would bunch unflatteringly, and she’d look ridiculous.
“Do you even want me to touch you?” Jasmine grumbles as she works her way under the tight material. Frankie laughs because she’s cute, and somehow, this is the most comfortable she’s ever been with someone.
“Do you need my help?”
“No, shh,” Jasmine replies, as she pulls the offending item over Frankie’s head. Frankie sighs. Maybe it is too tight. If she thinks about it too hard, she’ll feel self-conscious. Are there marks along her ribcage? Will Jasmine think she’s got shit tits? Jasmine doesn’t seem to care as her fingers wander the skin she wasn’t able to touch mere moments ago.
Jasmine presses her lips to Frankie’s spine. “Finally.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been waiting forever. It was three minutes.”
“Maybe it has been forever,” Jasmine says. She works her way under Frankie’s ribs, her fingers searching against the sheets for something Frankie knows she’ll help her find. She arches her back slightly, giving Jasmine better access, but her head dips the moment she brushes her nipple.
Jasmine gasps, her fingers rolling Frankie’s nipple bar back and forwards. “God, you’re like a fucking dream.”
Frankie’s not a prude. She loves sex, and she loves making people come. She’s just not used to other people makinghercome. At least not when she’s not doing the bulk of the work. But Jasmine makes her feel safe. She wants to please her.
“Lift your hips,” Jasmine says, and Frankie does, just slightly, but Jasmine pulls her higher.
“Are you going to be mean if I do it wrong?”
Frankie laughs. “Depends.”
Jasmine bites at the skin on her waist. “Why are you so rude to me for no reason? I know you’re wet.”
“I was the moment I saw you.”
Jasmine’s fingers slide against her shoulders and round to her throat, and Frankie thinks she’s about to choke her, but she doesn’t. Instead, she pushes her fingers into her mouth. Frankie takes them eagerly, sucking them deeper as Jasmine hums above her. The sounds are degrading, the slick and slide as she gags, but she can feel her cunt throbbing. Frankie barely knows what she likes, but somehow, Jasmine has it figured out. There’s a strike of jealously that hits her. Is Jasmine good at this because she’s done it before? Is she using the same tricks on Frankie that she uses on every woman? They must fall to their knees the moment she looks at them.
“Good,” Jasmine responds, her lips against Frankie’s waist as she pulls her fingers out. Frankie doesn’t care if she’s done this before. She wants Jasmine to do it to her—do whatevershe wants to her. She reaches down, not bothering to pull her underwear down. Jasmine doesn’t fumble; she traces her pussy with a practiced finger, like she knows all the lines of Frankie’s body already. Frankie moans long and deep as she does it again.
“Not so bad, huh?”
Frankie bites at the pillow. She’s desperate not to push her hips back—to prove she’s not as needy as her sounds let on—but she’s not sure why she’s bothering. Jasmine will get whatever she wants anyway. Frankie wants to tell Jasmine she’s never been in this position so she doesn’t disappoint her. Bottoms are always the pretty girls. Frankie has cemented herself as a top. It’s basically her entire personality.
“Take what you want, my girl,” Jasmine says, her lips against her shoulder.
“God,” Frankie moans. Jasmine hums, pushing her fingers deeper, pulsing them until Frankie thinks she might come annoyingly fast. She wants it to last forever. Usually, when she’s alone, she needs both—clit stimulation and a few fingers—but it feels different now. Not that Frankie would tell Jasmine that. All she’s figured out so far is that Jasmine is a goddess, and Frankie is frightfully quiet in bed. Still, as if Jasmine could read her mind, she pulls her fingers away.
“No,” Frankie whines, and Jasmine laughs, though it’s not unkind. She flips her over, her mouth against hers so fast Frankie almost gets whiplash.
Jasmine’s eyes glaze over when she pulls back and looks at her. She takes her time, her eyes lingering in places Frankie can’t picture.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Jasmine’s fingers move again, flicking over her clit, and Frankie knows she’s going to come. She doesn’t want to, because when she comes, everything is done, and she wants to stay here, with Jasmine. Frankie wants to make her feel as good as she makes Frankie feel, but for a long time. She wants to fall asleep on these ridiculously comfortable pillows and make Jasmine breakfastin the morning. She wants to show her the drawings Frankie never shows anyone. She wants to know if Jasmine wants to watch Frankie at training.
