Page 49 of Summer Breakdown
“You’re losing,” Jasmine whispers.
Frankie’s top is caught on her stomach, and Jasmine catches the line of her lace underwear hidden beneath her trousers. She can’t remember what Frankie was wearing the first night, but she wants to see her in red lace so badly she almost begs her to take her clothes off. But that’s not what they’re doing. Jasmine is helping her with her list of stresses.
Frankie’s hand slides against her thigh, under her skirt. Jasmine can barely breathe as her hand rests against her hip. Frankie leans up, her stomach tensing as she does.
Jasmine was only trying to help her.
“Pretty sure I’m winning,” Frankie mutters, her nose brushing Jasmine’s. Jasmine waits for the trick—for Frankie to get out of the pitiful tackle Jasmine got her in—but her lips touch Jasmine’s lightly instead.
It’s brief, just a ghost of pressure, but Frankie’s hand is fisted in the material of Jasmine’s skirt.
“Jasmine,” she whispers, so quietly Jasmine can’t be sure it’s not a trick of the wind. She shuffles in her lap, gasping when the friction gets her. Frankie’s eyes swoop across her face as she reaches around the back of her head, gathering Jasmine’s hair into a loose ponytail. Then, quieter this time, Frankie says, “Kiss me.”
Jasmine’s supposed to say no, but her lips are against Frankie’s before she can figure out how to pronounce theword. It’s soft, warm and slow. Still, Jasmine pulls Frankie closer.
“Frankie,” she moans. Frankie’s hands wander across her back, pulling her flush against her.
Frankie moves, and Jasmine tries to keep up, but it’s no use; she lets Frankie move her body. She has no brain power for anything other than the weight of Frankie’s lips. Jasmine bites at Frankie’s mouth as her thigh comes to rest between Jasmine’s legs. She lies back down, pulling Jasmine closer.
“Oh.” Jasmine gasps when Frankie’s thigh touches her properly. She leans closer, until all she can see is Frankie and the stars in her eyes.
“Why do you like stars so much?” Jasmine asks, bracketing Frankie’s face with her arms. Her eyes flutter shut when Frankie’s leg grinds against her slightly.
“It helps me,” Frankie pants. Her fingers flex against Jasmine’s waist. “If things get too much, I remember that I made it here, on this ridiculous, tiny planet, with millions of stars. How important could my problems really be?”
“Everything about you is important,” Jasmine whispers. Her lips brush Frankie’s with every word. She moves slowly, and Frankie helps her. Jasmine moans against her neck as she drags her hips more forcefully.
“Whatever you want,” Frankie whispers. “You can have whatever you want.”
Jasmine’s hand rests against Frankie’s stomach, creeping higher. She needs more of her.
“I—“ Jasmine starts, her head falling forwards when Frankie tenses her thigh. Then Frankie sits up, Jasmine falls further into her lap, and it takes the friction away from where she needs it. She’d complain, but then Frankie reaches over her head and pulls her top off from the back until she throws it down next to them.
Frankie leans back on her elbows, and Jasmine has never seen anything as beautiful as her. Her bra matches herpants—or she hopes it will, if she ever gets the strength to get off her and take her trousers off.
“You okay?” Frankie asks, her chest heaving. Jasmine wonders if she remembers anything from their night together. If the way Jasmine fumbled for her bra clasp entered her dreams and she decided she never wanted to deal with that again. Jasmine doesn’t want to think about it, so she kisses her.
Frankie’s hand wraps around her waist. If she wants to be in control this time, Jasmine will let her. Frankie’s fingertips tap against her ribs, pulling Jasmine’s top off as she goes. Her tongue teases hers as she moves her bra straps down.
Jasmine has thought about being with a woman more than is probably reasonable, but she never imagined it could feel like this. That there would be someone who wants her so badly her fingers tremble as they push her skirt up. Frankie slides her hands over Jasmine’s arse, gripping her almost painfully. Jasmine’s never been craved this way. She’s nevercravedthis way.
“Pretty girl. You’re so beautiful,” Frankie says, pressing her lips to the swell of Frankie’s breast. Jasmine’s clit aches as Frankie’s thigh hovers just far enough away to keep her wanting more. She unhooks Jasmine’s bra with a practiced ease, and Jasmine shoves the jealousy away. She wonders if it would help to know if Frankie has been with anyone since her. Jasmine’s back arches, her head thrown back as Frankie runs a finger across Jasmine’s nipple.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” she says. Frankie said that the first time too, and it turns out that all being perfect got her was nothing. With the feel of Frankie’s eyelashes against her sternum, she pushes the thought away. Frankie’s hands wrap around Jasmine’s waist as her lips continue their ascent.
“Frankie,” Jasmine moans. She pulls the cup of Frankie’s bra down. It’s all she has the brainpower for as Frankie kisses her. Jasmine pulls her closer, her own nipples rubbing against Frankie’s. She gasps, even though she can’t grindagainst her like this. Frankie’s fingers dance up her spine like she’s playing a tune, then she drops her leg slightly, and Jasmine falls further into her lap. She wonders how to get closer. She wants to touch her. Jasmine never thought she’d like the idea of her pussy touching someone else’s. It was so unnecessary for her, but now, she wants to be closer. She wants to feel like they’re one.
“Whatever I want?”
Frankie’s eyes darken. “Anything.”
Jasmine swallows. “I want your mouth.”
Frankie’s quick with it. Her palms against her thighs as she hoists Jasmine to her face. Jasmine scrambles to keep steady but Frankie places one hand against her stomach to keep her upright, the other pulling her thighs down, her underwear to the slide. Her tongue is heavy and warm and absolutely devastating.
“Fuck,” she mutters. Frankie pulls her closer to her mouth and Jasmine has imagined this more times than she should, but it’s better than anything she could come up with.
Frankie groans, but it’s strained. Her hand moves around to cup the back of her thigh, skirting against her lips. “Should I wash my hands this time?”
