Page 17 of Summer Breakdown
“Hmm?” she asks, but her hands stay against Frankie’s thighs, pulling her against her face. Frankie’s hands wrap around her curls. Frankie always wants people to figure out what she needs without telling them explicitly. It’s a curse she’s been working on in therapy for the past fourteen years. She doesn’t want to suffocate Jasmine. So, she tugs, and she hopes that’s enough. She hopes Jasmine crawls inside her brain, only to the light part, and figures out what she needs. Jasmine’s fingers slide up her thigh, her thumb pressing against her clit in slow, agonising movements.
Jasmine kisses her hip, then her stomach, her ribs. She’s everywhere. She pulls Frankie’s nipple between her teeth, and it’s not enough.
“You want me here?” she asks, wiping her mouth against her own arm.
“Yes.” She can’t crush her from here.
“Okay,” she replies, a little shy for someone who had their tongue inside her. “Was it okay?”
“Yes,” Frankie pants, and Jasmine manoeuvres until she’s straddling Frankie’s thigh, and she feels the wet of her cunt against her. Knowing Jasmine is this wet just from making Frankie come is almost enough to shove the anxiety back into her chest. That, the flick of Jasmine’s fingers, and the way she looks at her almost have her coming again in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Frankie holds off—barely—until Jasmine lowers herself closer to her.
“I might dream about your thighs for the rest of my life,” Jasmine whispers, then she kisses her once, but Frankie holds her close. It’s filthy the way their tongues touch. The way she’s cataloguing every needy moan Jasmine makes. The way Jasmine grinds against her. It’s fast, and sloppy, but it matches the way her fingers move.
Jasmine is good at sex. She wasn’t wrong. Frankie has barely told her anything, and Jasmine’s figuring everything out based on the small movements and sounds Frankie makes. She pulls her nipple with her teeth; she bites at her neck. She’s the hottest thing that has ever happened to her.
Frankie isn’t. She won’t be the best thing that’s happened to Jasmine. This is Frankie’s role—what Frankie is supposed to do. She’s supposed to be making Jasmine feel good. Soon, Jasmine will make her come for the second time, and then Frankie will have to be even better than that. How is she supposed to figure out what she likes so quickly? How is she supposed to face her tomorrow and wonder if everything she did was awful but Jasmine’s too nice to tell her? Other girls, she’s not all that bothered. It’s not hard. Half the time she feels like she’s in an eighties porno, with the noises they make. Jasmine gasps against her, and it feels true. It feels like Jasmine wants Frankie to have a good time. Like she cares if she’s happy.
Jasmine’s free hand grips Frankie’s, linking their fingers together and above her head. She’s so good.
It’s not enough, and Frankie knows it’s not. It won’t be, because her mind is elsewhere. Jasmine won’t know that part of her. No one knows that part of her. But Frankie doesn’t want to disappoint her. She doesn’t want her to think she’s done anything wrong, so she’ll stay. She can come, if she thinks hard enough. She flicks through the scenarios in her head that she plays when she touches herself. Random fanfic scenes, that one porn video she watched at eighteen and never found again. Jasmine. Jasmine. Jasmine.
Oh, God. She could fake it. It’s against her morals, and she thinks maybe she won’t get to heaven, but Jasmine being happy might be worth it. God gave her bipolar; surely he could let it slide just this once.
“You want my tongue again?” Jasmine asks.
“No,” Frankie replies. She’s frustrated now. Not at the situation, but at herself. It’s not Jasmine’s fault she’s notstraight. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know Frankie’s insane. Her throat burns, and she’s terrified she might start sobbing. How embarrassing.
“You want me to stop?”
Frankie pauses. Does she? Not really. She doesn’t want Jasmine to think she’s done anything wrong.
“It’s okay,” Jasmine whispers. She drops her lips against Frankie’s temple and slowly removes her fingers. Frankie is never sure why it feels so much more intrusive when the fingers come out than when they go in. “We’re done. You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Jasmine rubs her thumb against her hairline, and Frankie wonders if Jasmine wishes Frankie had hair.
Jasmine blinks rapidly, her gaze across Frankie’s face. “Are you hurt?”
Frankie frowns. “No.”
Jasmine looks at her as she wipes her fingers against her sheets. They’re softer than anything Frankie has laid on before. It’s possible she doesn’t get all her bedding from the supermarket.
Jasmine smiles at her softly, kissing her once. She doesn’t try and make anything else happen, but she stays close anyway. Frankie needs to make her come; that’s her only job. That’s all she had to do. She counts to three, and then she’ll be able to do it.
Frankie takes a deep breath, then she spins them over and kisses her. It’s not hard, but her mind isn’t quite there. She doesn’t want to let her down.
Jasmine kisses her back, but then she pulls back, pushing Frankie lightly with her hand against her jaw.
“Take a breather,” Jasmine mutters.
She doesn’t want Frankie to touch her. It’s the only thing she’s good at, and she’s made sure Jasmine doesn’t want to do it with her. Frankie nods.
“Can I get you anything?” Jasmine asks.
She wants to tell her that she’s lovely with her wild curls against her pillow, and Frankie’s sorry for what she’s going to do next. She wants to tell her the way she looked at her tonight was true, even if the next part suggests it’s not. She wants to tell her she was serious when she said she wanted to see her again, but Frankie isn’t able to have the people she wants to have. She wants to tell her she needs to leave, but she’s not sure how.
“Can I have some water?” she asks instead, like a coward.
