Chapter Text
“So what do you think?”
Franky circled Bridget’s waist from behind, pressed along the entire length of her body. Kissed her neck. “What do I think of what?”
“The house.” She turned in Franky’s arms. “Do you think you can manage here for a bit?”
Franky kissed her, humming against her lips, then worked her way down Gidge’s neck. “I’ve been in a cell for five years. I could sleep in mud pit. Long as it’s nowhere near Wentworth.”
Bridget was losing her ability to focus and she needed to lay ground rules. She had picked Franky up barely an hour ago. So she pushed away reluctantly. “I’m having a beer. You fancy something? I’ve got wine…”
“I fancy a fuck, Gidge. What gives?” Franky grinned at her from across the island in the kitchen.
Bridget had retreated around it toward the refrigerator needing to put some space between herself and the overly eager youngster. “Look, Franky,” she smiled to soften the blow of the news she was about to deliver. The limits she was going to set. She didn’t figure Franky was going to be big on boundaries for a while. But what Bridget did know is that the younger woman would re-adjust to life outside prison much faster and in a more healthy way with some structure than without it.
“I need to set some ground rules.”
Franky’s eyebrow went up and she cocked her head. She sat on a stool on her side of the island. Bridget slid a beer across to her.
“You can stay here while you get on your feet. But it needs to be with a fast track toward getting into school, getting employed, and finding somewhere else to live.”
Franky frowned. “What do you mean? I thought we were settling down here in domestic bliss?”
Bridget closed her eyes, steeled herself for Franky’s disappointment. The work of getting her to trust again. Damn. Should have had this conversation in the car. When she opened them Franky’s mouth was curled into a half smile.
“Kidding, Gidge. Not a problem. But we still get to fuck, aye?”
Bridget smiled back. She was jonesing to get the ex-inmate naked. But first things first. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a bad idea. In fact, there are regulations about a therapist becoming involved with a patient,” she paused, gauging Franky’s reaction. She seemed unmoved. “Technically I should give you a two-year window from when I last treated you to when I try to get you into bed.”
“Fuckall, Gidge! No way!” Franky stood, bristling.
The older woman held up a hand urging calmness. “You need to know this, Franky. You need to know you have a choice here. That you aren’t beholden to me for helping you through some very difficult emotional issues,” she paused. Franky sat back down and took a pull from her beer. “But I did open that door with you back at Wentworth. My feelings haven’t changed. I want to help you, to see you succeed. And I very much want to have sex with you. You can stay here, but in the guest bedroom. We only sleep together on designated date nights,” Franky whinged loudly, “and you get to say no, Franky. If this isn’t what you want. At any point. I’m not going anywhere whatever you decide.”
Franky stood again and slowly made her way around the bench. “So you’re saying I won’t have to earn my rent money on my back with you? A little rut for a little food?”
“Franky…” Bridget scolded.
She pressed herself against Gidge, pushing her against the sink. “Cuz I was kinda hoping that would be the case,” she said in a low voice, sliding her arms around the smaller woman’s waist, and kissing her. Decadently.
Oh fuck. This is going to be so good. Bridget let the younger woman dive deeper and deeper into her mouth. Then pulled back. “I’m serious, Franky,” she panted, backing up a bit and taking her soon-to-be-lover’s face in both hands. She wanted to be clear. This needed to be Franky’s choice. “We can stop now. No harm, no foul.”
Franky took Gidget’s hands and placed them on her breasts. Then she grabbed Gidge’s arse, shoving a thigh between her legs. “Where’s your bed?” she asked against her neck, licking and sucking there.
Bridget’s eyes rolled back in her head. She couldn’t take this much longer. “Franky,” she squeezed, pressed her thumbs against the younger woman’s nipples. Feeling them harden under her touch. “Tell me you want this.”
Franky lifted up, securing Gidge’s legs around her waist and walked into the lounge area they had come through upon entry. The ex-con’s minimal belongings were still by the front door where she’d dropped them. She laid down on the couch, unbuttoning Gidge’s jeans, sliding her hand down inside the front. “You talk too much,” Franky said against her lips, then dove in again, this time with her tongue and her fingers.
Bridget didn’t say another word for a very long time.
Four months later Franky had secured a room in a flat near campus. She had two other roommates — uni students, both guys. Both undergraduates. When it came to applying for housing her prison record and the old footage of her flinging hot oil that permanently disfigured a popular chef/presenter meant the nicer options had rejected her outright. These guys were obnoxious and filthy — not much into cleaning or studying. But she had her own room and ensuite. And spent most of her time on campus, at work or at Gidge’s anyway. And they didn’t harass her or mess with her stuff. Way better than Wentworth.
Not nearly as nice as Gidge’s place in Fitzroy. And Franky loved that neighborhood. Lot’s of different people from all walks of life. Great food. Great shops.
And Gidge. They spent almost all of their down time together. The sex was fantastic, but more than that, Franky found that being with Bridget Westfall made her feel secure. Grounded. Safe. And cared for, which was an entirely new sensation. The former inmate was used to relationships based on taking as much as possible before getting out. Bridget gave and gave and gave. For the first time in her life, even though she worked and went to school and and lived in a shitty rat hole of a flat and barely had any down time, she felt abundance in her life. Possibility. She wasn’t hungry in the spiritual sense, like she’d been since she was born. For the first time in her life she felt full. Genuinely happy.
They had different tastes in music and arts and food. But at least with food, the younger woman was greatly expanding the psychologist’s palette and loving every minute of cooking. Franky was getting used to being with the older woman. Getting attached. Maybe even falling for her.
Love? Was Franky falling in love with Bridget Westfall? Wait. I definitely love school. I kinda love my job. I hate my roomies. Do I love Gidge?
She looked across the lounge now. She and her girlfriend — they had agreed they were dating exclusively — sat with legs entangled, sharing a soft New Zealand lambswool throw. Franky had a law text in her lap. Bridget was reading a psych journal. She also had a glass of wine. It was Saturday, but Franky had a lot more reading to get through before she could start on the vino.
Bridget looked up, catching Franky staring at her. “What?”
Franky smiled. “Busted. I think I’m in lust with you, Gidge,” she said, pushing her book onto the floor and crawling along the lounge until she was laying on top of her girlfriend, kissing her.
Ixnay with the ovelay, Doyle. Chill. It’s been four months. Don’t be a dick.
**************
Erica Davidson Pearson hurried down the hallway of the the Melbourne University Law School, trying to get her bearings. It had been barely twenty four hours since she’d agreed to take over a second year course in Criminal Law and Procedure from her friend and colleague, Hiram Walker, who had just had a stroke and would not be able to complete his teaching responsibilities for the semester.
It was just the opportunity Erica had been waiting for. She had taught law before going to Wentworth, but after leaving the prison she went back into practice with her father. In the midst of wedding planning and trying to reconcile her ‘sexual confusion’, she hadn’t been up to returning to the classroom setting. Too many young, eager faces reminding her of who she’d left behind when she walked away without a word. So she’d gone for easy. Back in with Da. Focusing on confirming her heterosexuality by marrying Mark. Being the wife and ambitious social and political climber she’d been before that goddamn kiss.
But that was several years ago. And she was again bored to tears working corporate law with her father. Since a return to Wentworth was out of the question, she made her interest to get back to the school known to her former faculty colleagues. By unfortunate happenstance for Hiram, here she was about to jump into the middle of term two, year two students seeking their law degree. Erica was exhilarated.
She arrived in the classroom just as the students filed in. She busied herself at the podium, placing her notes, the syllabus and the student roster there, then taking a deep breath. It had been awhile since she’d been in front of a group of young people. They could be both energizing and frightening. But she was ready.
As the hour turned, she went to the door closing it then surveyed the room again. It was set in a typical manner: a semi-circle of tiered seats all centered around the lectern at the bottom in the middle of the room. A large whiteboard, which doubled as a film screen, was behind the podium. She walked over to it and began to address the class.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” A round of hearty “Oi!”’s greeted her, and a couple of low, wolfish whistles of appreciation. She smiled. “I am Professor Pearson. I am sorry to inform you that Professor Walker will not be back this semester.”
A din of conversation, murmured questions and concerned noises flowed to her.
Erica raised her voice. “He has had a stroke but is recovering well. If any of you are interested in seeing him, visiting him at hospital while he recuperates, I think that would lift his spirits. I’ll write that information on the board at the end of class.” She swept her eyes around the room, nearly humming with pleasure at being there again. Teaching again. This was going to be fun. “Meanwhile, let’s get started…” She began the barrage of questioning that she knew should be happening at this point in the semester for the Criminal Law and Procedure course, hoping it wasn’t repeating things Walker had already covered.
Soon she felt chemistry with the students. They seemed very engaged with her, paying close attention and eager to answer her dialectical drilling. As she neared the end of the two-hour session, she paused and asked if anyone had any questions for her. Several hands went up. Starting with the left side of the room, she looked at the seating roster, then called out the student by name. When she reached the second to the last face on the right, toward the back of the room, her heart stopped.
She didn’t need the roster to identify this distractingly gorgeous young woman. Green eyes and a cocky smile, the hand still in the air, the other spinning a pen between her fingers.
“Aren’t you going to call on me, Miss Davidson?” Franky said, a little louder than she needed to.
Erica forced herself to breathe. Of all the people she had expected to see today…. Fuck. “I’m called Professor Pearson now, Franky.” She couldn’t help but return the smile. She had missed the cheeky charmer. “Does your question have anything at all to do with this class or the course material?”
All eyes in the class turned to stare at Franky.
Her hand went down, her smile widened. “It does not… Professor.”
“Then perhaps it can wait until after class or for office hours?” Erica thought she did a damn good job of appearing unflappable, even if her insides had turned to jelly.
“It can.”
“Thank you.” Erica moved on to the next and final student, answered that question, then ended the session.
With class dismissed the students began filing out. Erica watched Franky descending the stairs toward her and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She curled one hand there, kneading the tightened muscles and looked away as another student approached her asking for the information about Professor Walker.
“Right, right,” she said distractedly and went to the whiteboard, pulling out her mobile to find the information. When she’d written it out she took a deep breath and turned around. Franky was gone. She exhaled in relief, packed her things back into her satchel and headed for Walker’s office; now Professor Pearson’s, which was several floors up in the building.
She took the stairs to give herself time to cool down, calm her racing pulse. Her office hours didn’t start for another hour and when she finally reached the room she closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. Sitting down at the desk, she absentmindedly tried to familiarize herself with the space, opening and closing drawers, but then stopped and put her face in her hands.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Franky Doyle is in my class. Franky Doyle. Franky goddamn Doyle. Shit! She hadn’t seen the ex-prisoner since the day she’d left Wentworth. She had vowed to herself, and silently to her husband, that she would never see Franky again.
And right at this moment, the visceral memory of that goddamn kiss was rippling across Erica’s skin. She shivered, moving her hands to her hair and replaying the incident in her mind. When Franky had assaulted her. And she’d liked it. When Franky kissed her. And she’d kissed her back.
Being at Wentworth initially had seemed a perfect fit for her. When she’d started the education programs, the women all responded very well. Even her attraction to and flirting with Franky was a game well played by them both. The proximity to violence, overt sexuality, dominance and submission as naturally played out between prison staff and prison inmates; all this had intrigued Erica to no end. Really got her juices flowing. She couldn’t wait to go to work every morning at Wentworth.
Until she’d been made governor. Her relationship with Franky needed to shift then and the green-eyed charmer resisted the change. Erica found that she didn’t want it either, that in fact, she missed the regularly scheduled tutoring sessions with the ridiculously intelligent younger woman; and their easy banter. She found herself looking for excuses to see Franky, summon her to her office. And it wasn’t until she stood by while Channing verbally dressed down the inmate, accusing her of something Erica knew Franky had not done, sentencing her to five weeks in the slot… The wounded betrayal on Franky’s face had nearly broken Erica’s heart. And also made her understand that what she felt for the prisoner was more than a girl crush.
The next five weeks were the hardest of Erica Davidson’s emotional life. She tried to rationalize, blame, dissuade herself from feeling so much for Franky. And every day she missed her more. Franky even invaded her dreams. Intensely erotic, sexual dreams that woke her up panting on the edge of orgasm, aching for Franky’s scent, her touch.
But by the end of the five week stint, she had firmly decided this was not to be. These sexual… appetites… were ridiculously perverted and to be suppressed at all cost. And what did she think was going to happen, that she would somehow have a torrid affair with someone under her care? A prisoner? She just needed to set new, firm boundaries. Stop letting Franky get under her skin. They could be friendly but nothing else. Nothing good could come of any further interaction with the inmate. At best Franky would resent her — fine, as long as she completed her coursework and sentence and got out of there. She didn’t belong in prison. Erica intended to see that she got out. At worst, Franky would act out in a way that added time to her sentence. Erica intended to prevent that as well. She just needed to draw a line and see that Franky respected it.
The morning she was to pull Franky from the slot, put her back in the general population, she announced to Mark over breakfast that she was ready to set a date. Time to end the eight year engagement. He had been over the moon and Erica had driven to work feeling more happy and confident than usual. And instead of slipping her engagement band off before going into the facility, she left it on. Declaring to everyone, but particularly a cheeky green-eyed seductress, that Erica Davidson was not available. Ever.
And fuck if that hadn’t backfired all to hell. Instead of accepting the message Erica’s engagement ring sent, Franky Doyle reacted with more aggressive and overtly sexual behavior than before. The governor then found herself drawn to the increased hostility like a moth to a flame; and Franky was definitely on fire after five weeks of solitary confinement. Honestly, Erica was completely out of her element, bewildered by her lack of control around Franky. And excited by it too.
Erica stood up and rifled her fingers through her hair, bringing herself back to the present moment. This spiral was ridiculous. She had been married three years but with Mark for nearly eleven. Franky was a young person — an incredibly intelligent young woman — who Erica had taken a personal interest in and would continue to support to excel. She was actually quite pleased to realize that Franky must have finished uni and a year of law school in three years if she was in second year law now. An incredibly journey — definitely something to celebrate. Maybe she had actually made a difference for the women at Wentworth, and for this one in particular. She would mentor Franky moving forward. That was all.
She pulled a bottle of water out of her bag and took a long, refreshing, calming drink. Then pulled her papers out of her satchel starting to review the coursework for the rest of the semester. She’d only got the call about taking over the class yesterday afternoon. And between tying things up, handing over case files to associates at her father’s firm and getting her administrative paperwork and credentials reactivated at Melbourne University School of Law, she had scant time to actually dig into what had been covered, what was left to teach, and how the students were performing.
She heard her office door open. “Office hours aren’t for another 45 minutes,” she said without looking up. “If you could come back a bit later,” she did look up then. And nearly drowned in a jade sea.
Franky Doyle closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Staring at her. Grinning that cheeky grin that both infuriated Erica and made her pulse race. She willed her heart to stop it’s hammering as she found herself smiling back.
“Want to know my question, Erica?”
God. That voice. She fought the urge to correct the address. Again. It’s Professor Pearson, Franky. “Probably not. But ask away.”
Franky licked her lips. Erica didn’t look at her tongue. “Well,” she started, but then her voice faltered. She looked down at her fingernails. “Why did you leave?” Her voice broke. When she looked up again her face was a mask of pain and anguish.
“Oh jesus,” Erica stood up quickly making her way around the desk. “God, Franky,” she approached the younger woman, her heart aching. The plan to maintain a professional, professorial, mentor-like distance from the student went completely out the window. She had conveniently forgotten that she wasn’t in control at all in their tete-a-tete’s. It was Franky. Always Franky laying down the terms of engagement. Leading Erica along a path that she felt compelled to follow.
She stopped arms’ distance from the brunette, then cupped her face with both hands. “Do you really not know why I couldn’t stay?”
“Was it because of me?” Franky asked.
Erica nodded her head.
Franky pushed her hands away and replied angrily, her face reddening. “That fucking hurt, Erica! You never said anything! Never visited. Never…” A single tear slowly made it’s way down Franky’s face. “Fuck!” she swiped at the tear. She’d worked out a lot of anger in sessions with Gidget. The pain was harder to accept without masking it with anger. But acceptance would lead to release instead of the type of self-destruction she had embraced before. This pain was real. Still fresh. And she let Erica see it. “We had something, Erica,” she said, sadly.
Erica knew about Franky’s abandonment issues. Knew that her course of action years ago might alienate Franky permanently. But she had no other choice; and she wondered now at Franky being here in her office. Owning her emotions. Erica was awed at her personal growth and even more drawn to her because of it. She didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember thinking, didn’t remember how any of it happened. How she pulled Franky’s face towards hers while leaning in, whispered a heart-felt apology, and kissed her.
Franky lost herself for a moment before taking a step back, blinking in surprise. Still angry but less so than seconds before. “Fuck,” she said again, her hands finding Erica’s hips, pulling their bodies together. It was Franky who leaned in this time. “This is not why I came here,” she said, slightly breathless now, drawn again to the sweet lips she’d craved from the moment she had first met Erica Davidson. Already wanting more than the spark of desire that ignited in her when they kissed now. This time she pressed her tongue against Erica’s lips demanding entry.
And Erica eagerly gave it. Marveling at the feel of Franky’s tongue sliding against hers. The electricity that arced from where their mouths touched to her scalp, through her entire body to the tips of her fingers — which were now tangled in Franky’s hair — to the ends of her toes. She’d never been kissed like this by anyone. Never felt so much passion; never felt such desire.
The kiss went on, deepening, until Erica thought she might pass out from the adrenaline coursing through her body. It was instantly addictive. Then she thought she was falling.
Franky pulled away. “Fuck…” she looked down at Erica, bewildered. “This can’t happen.”
Erica wasn’t ready to stop and clutched at Franky frantically. As she regained her senses, she realized they had somehow made their way to the old leather couch that came with the office and she was on her back, Franky on top of her, their legs and groins pressed together obscenely. The professor became painfully aware of the throbbing between her legs and finally let go of the younger woman, moving out from under her to the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Erica had no idea what to say, still breathless and dazed from that kiss.
Franky half laughed and half sobbed as she moved into a seated position, elbows on knees, face in hands. “You make me fucking crazy. You know that Erica?”
Erica laughed at this. Despite every nerve in her body being on fire, her emotions a roiling mess and her head hazy, she recognized a familiar ease and comfort — the rapport she’d developed with Franky so many years ago. It was still there. “Ahhhh. The feeling is mutual, Franky. I never did quite know what to do with you.” She reached over tucking a lock of hair behind Franky’s ear. She was having a hard time keeping her hands off the younger woman.
Franky didn’t look at her. “I missed you.” She swiped an arm across her eyes, clearing the tears, and began examining her fingernails again.
Erica remembered this gesture. It happened when Franky was feeling vulnerable or needy. It didn’t happen often and she’d already seen it twice in only a few minutes. She reached out to caress the over examined digits, thought better of it, and stood, moving back to her desk.
“I’m sorry, Franky,” she said sincerely, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I really am. It killed me, leaving like that.” She sighed. “I had developed an inappropriate,” the younger woman looked up at her then, eyes twinkling, “attachment to you.”
Franky’s eyebrow went up. “Inappropriate?” She repeated, smiling rakishly now. “There’s nothing inappropriate about wanting to fuck me, Miss Davidson.”
Erica bristled, but couldn’t honestly deny that she wanted to have sex with Franky Doyle. She just wished Franky didn’t still read her so easily. God the girl gets under my skin. Yet the jab was comfortingly familiar — part of the verbal sparring she and Franky enjoyed at Wentworth — and she couldn’t help but smile back. “It was only going to lead to trouble. For both of us.” Erica tried for an honest exchange without overt sexual dialogue further stoking their already over-heated interaction. “I really wanted you to get out of there, Franky, make parole. Finish your studies. You were on a good path and you didn’t need me to finish it.”
“That’s not true,” Franky frowned.”I…”
“You would have kept pushing me. The only result, even if I did give in,” Franky’s eyes sparkled now, “would have been you in the slot or additional charges and more time. Think about it.”
“But…”
“Come over here and sit down,” Erica motioned to one of two chairs across from the desk. Can we just sit here and talk like regular people? Like we weren’t just about to tear each other’s clothes off a few minutes ago? Please, Franky. “Tell me how you’ve been, what you’re up to outside of class. And what kind of law you think you might want to practice.” Jesus Mary mother of god please let us have a normal conversation.
To her surprise, Franky sat.
“Did you think about me at all?” she asked sincerely.
“Of course.”
“Like, a lot,” she held her arms out wide, “or constantly?” She stretched her arms out wider, cocking her head and grinning at Erica, waggling her eyebrows.
Maybe a semi-normal conversation. “Stop it,” Erica tried not to smile. “So how are you? And how did you manage to finish enough coursework to be in 2L in three years?”
Franky leaned back in the chair, put her feet up on the desk. Erica slapped them down. “I was bored without you to play with. So I got focused.”
Erica smiled, genuinely pleased. “I’m so happy for you, Franky.”
“And I met someone. I really care about her. That’s why this,” Franky gestured between the two of them, “can’t happen.”
Erica sighed. It would be ridiculous at this point to try to deny the attraction. “Well since I’m married I would have to agree,” she said a bit defensively, feeling a disturbing pang of jealousy and loss upon hearing Franky was in a relationship. “And you’re my student. Definitely against the rules. But that wouldn’t have stopped you before…” Stop fishing. What the hell is the matter with you?
“I’m not that person anymore. Professor Pearson,” Franky said, meaning it. Thinking about how happy she was with Gidge. “So who’s the lucky guy? Or girl?” She leaned forward placing her elbows on Erica’s desk and grinned conspiratorially. “You know there’s a raging lesbian just dying to get out of you, Erica.”
“No. There. Is. Not,” she sputtered.
“And please tell me it’s not that wanker you were engaged to when you were thinking about fucking me.”
“Christ, Franky!” Now she was annoyed. “Mark is a very good man. I love him.” She wanted to mean it. She thought she did all the times she’d said it. Except during her time at Wentworth, which was another reason she needed to get out of there. But just these few minutes with her former inmate, the onslaught of emotion, sensuality, desire. She’d never once felt that with her husband. She needed to end this conversation. “Look. I…”
Franky’s mobile buzzed and she pulled it from the pocket of her leather jacket. “Shit. Gotta go to work.” She stood up and made her way to the door. “I’m a barista at Seven Seeds, edge of campus, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons until close. Come over and I’ll buy you a cappuccino.” She stopped in front of the door and turned around.
Erica stood up, disoriented by the quick shift in energy and momentum. She realized she wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Franky just yet. She approached the younger woman but stopped short of actually touching her. “I’ll do that,” she said.
Franky watched her for a moment, then pulled her into her arms, hugging her tightly, pushing her nose into Erica’s hair and inhaling deeply. Erica fought the urge to moan and rub against her like a cat as she wrapped her arms around Franky’s shoulders, hugging her back. Franky was slightly taller in booted heels. If Erica turned her head slightly, she could take Franky’s earlobe in her teeth. She fought the urge.
“Our chemistry is crazy hot but our timing is fucked,” Franky whispered into her ear, then kissed her there. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun this semester, though.” She let go of Erica, pleased to see the look of bemused, aroused consternation there. Then she kissed her on the mouth, swiftly but deeply and thoroughly.
Erica pushed her away. But not until she felt she’d been properly kissed again. “Franky!” She feigned exasperation.
The student smirked at her then put both hands up in a show of submission. “I know. Won’t happen again.” The smirk shifted to genuine affection, then Franky turned to leave.
Erica felt a pang of loss for the second time. “Don’t get attached to that coffee shop. We need to get you an internship at a firm.”
Franky was in the corridor now. “You gonna help me?”
“Of course!” Erica said, standing in her doorway, watching Franky retreat backwards down the hall. Still smiling at her.
“Come for a cuppa.”
“I will.”
Then she was gone.