Soft

Wentworth—AKA Wentworth Prison—Smut PWP One Shot. I’m juggling a hectic job, a renovation, my final exam, finding a job and a pregnant wife. I broke my hibernation with this but I’m back into hibernation now. Catch ya later.

Rated: X. NSFW.

[Quick Devje explanation: all you need to know is that Erica Davidson is a lawyer/prisoner advocate who becomes prison governor and Franky Doyle is a prisoner. Or, if you want a Bad Girls analogy, Erica is Helen to Franky’s Nikki.]

* * * * *

Erica didn’t expect it to be soft.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it: she had definitely thought about it a lot more than she should have. She had dreamed of Franky. She couldn’t stop the woman from popping into her mind at the most inopportune moments. She’d thought of Franky clothed and Franky naked; she’d thought of Franky on top and underneath.

In fact, she had thought of Franky so many times and in so many ways that, when the kiss happened, she could not understand why it felt like a shock at all.

At least the barrier of professionalism—that flimsy, ephemeral and oh-so-rickety barrier—had at stood between Erica and oblivion for a while. But, oh, how things had come crashing down when Franky had crossed the line and kissed her.

She had stood, hand flat against the wall as though the sheer bulk of the building might hold her together like bricks by mortar. Her heart had pounded, her head had spun and her knees had gone weak. And it wasn’t just because of the kiss: it was because she had given in.

Oh, she had fought. Well, she had pretended to fight. She had proffered the regular, well-rehearsed platitudes about professional distance and appropriate duty of care. But, as soon as those lips had found hers, hard and hungry, as soon as she’d felt those hands grasping, owning her, she had known that it was futile.

She had given in, as the kiss turned soft and sweet, a whisper and a plea all at once. Erica hadn’t know who had made that plea, but the honest voice in the back of her head said it was both of them.

Franky was vulnerable. She knew Franky was vulnerable and, though to all intents and purposes it had been Franky who had crossed the line, it was Franky who was open and raw now. Erica still had all the power and she knew it.

What scared her was how willing she suddenly was to give everything up: her job, her life and definitely her sanity. She just needed one more taste of those lips. God, just one more taste.

But she made the decision far too many days after their initial kiss to really be able to claim she was out of her mind. She knew that, and Franky would know that.

While Wentworth was such a catastrophic mess, did it really matter anyway? There were more investigations and meetings and questions and discussions than even Erica could follow. One minute, her job was secure and the next, the threat of a new Governor loomed like a black shadow over her shoulder. Was it any surprise that Erica also lost a bit of her sanity? That was the only way she could sell it to herself.

It was the only way she could explain what she did.

And she thought she’d know what to expect. After all, Erica had been right there in the office with Franky when she’d found herself pinned against the wall. She’d expected—or, if she was truly honest, she’d hoped for—something not dissimilar. She’d wanted the passion, the heat and the shivering culmination she knew would come.

But she hadn’t expected soft.

The unassigned swipe card was too easy to obtain, as was knowing where all the cameras were, and which ones could be gently moved to allow certain passages to be clear of monitoring. It was far too easy and the thrills which moved up her fingers as she made it just that easy for herself should have been a warning.

But everything was falling apart and she needed this, her junkie fix of the conflicting, conflicted ball of heat that now consumed her thoughts.

And if there was surprise in Franky’s eyes when she slipped through the door so late at night, after lockdown, it was fleeting and gone in a second.

She hadn’t even considered that there might be someone else there, even though she knew that Kim and Franky were still, well, whatever they were. Somehow she knew that when she slid through the door, closing it quietly behind her, it would just be the two of them.

It was far to easy to forget that they were in a cell, and that technically she was now alone with a so-called dangerous criminal. It was too easy to ignore the décor and just see that face, those eyes, and those lips. And if Franky were to have questioned her, it would all have come falling down, but Erica could see that Franky understood, had known what was coming.

There were no walls this time, just Franky getting up off her bed and walking over slowly. What was vaguely surprising was that it wasn’t predatory. It felt like an eternity that they stood within molecules of touching but not. When Franky’s fingers brushed her cheek, Erica’s eyelids fluttered closed and then opened when she felt warm air on her lips.

So close, they were so close and the blood was pumping in her head now.

And it was barely a kiss when it started. Oh, how it made her tremble, as the brush of warm skin on skin tickled and then tantalised.

Until Franky’s tongue became involved, and then suddenly there was nothing bare about it apart from the soul stripping heat and need.

Her blouse was lifted gently from her pants and fingertips brushed along the skin of her back. When their bodies melded, Erica gasped, but it was swallowed by another kiss. There was nothing frantic, and that too was surprising. In a place where time was always limited, it suddenly felt like nothing could separate them, that nothing could ever prise them apart.

How they turned, she didn’t know, her hands in Franky’s hair, on Franky’s waist, lifting Franky’s singlet to slide underneath along skin that burnt. She only knew she felt the hard edge of the bunk against the back of her knees and then she was being lowered, so gently and so carefully that she thought she might cry.

And, God, how Franky fit to her, so warm and lean. Erica ran her hand up Franky’s bicep, feeling the muscle bulge under silken skin and stared up. She’d dreamed this, Franky leaning over her, asking ‘What do you want me to do?’ and those dream words echoed in her head.

But Franky didn’t talk. She just dipped her head and began dropping kisses along Erica’s jaw, along the long line of her neck as she arched, and down towards a collarbone. It was only when there was a tug of teeth, the borderline pleasure-pain of suction on the slope of her breast that she gasped, the sound echoing off the concrete walls.

“Shhh,” Franky whispered, the first word murmured between them since Erica had slid into the room. Franky’s fingers came up to hook along her lower teeth, rubbing gently as her mouth went back, pushing south, Erica’s blouse inexplicably open and her chest heaving.

She had to bite gently on the index finger in her mouth when Franky’s lips closed on her nipple through the thin material of her bra. If she hadn’t, the noise would definitely have left her because the pleasure that ricocheted through her was nothing she’d known before.

She knew Franky would take charge, and she knew it would be good. She hadn’t expected to lose her mind. When her clothes had come off was a complete mystery. She tugged at Franky’s ribbed tank top until the woman relented, kneeling up long enough to fling it off to the floor.

Their eyes met for an instant, electric, then Franky’s mouth was back on her skin, their bodies pushed together, and Erica arched, lost in a maelstrom of sensation. Fingertips ran down, and Erica’s nails dug into the dip of Franky’s lower back, the gentle rise of a tattoo traced until teeth found her skin and her nipple and the rim of her nipple and then her nails were scoring, biting into the hard muscle of Franky’s back.

Franky’s palm was cupping her, spreading her legs. She was wet, far more wet than she could ever recall being before, and if the inhalation of air through Franky’s nose was anything to go by, she liked it. Erica arched again, pushing her centre against the hand that was tantalisingly close but not doing anything.

And then Franky’s fingers were finding her, tracing aimless patterns that made her whimper into the curve of Franky’s shoulder. She needed her inside, and she needed it now, but she couldn’t speak. She just held herself taut like a violin string as the voice in her head chanted, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, God, fuck, please fuck me,” over and over.

And then one long finger was inside her, sliding in without notice and without difficulty because she was just that wet. Then two, no less easily but deep and curling. Erica bit Franky. She didn’t bite hard enough to hurt, just to leave dental impressions where the muscle of one shoulder met the soft tissue at the neck and the moved together.

Under Franky, Erica arched, her hips thrusting, trying to increase the speed. But Franky was in charge, her body holding Erica’s down and her fingers maddeningly slow.

Erica hadn’t expected slow.

But Franky had her own mind, her body so gentle and yet unrelentingly firm. Franky’s mouth moved from neck to earlobe, to the curve and length of her jaw and back again as her fingers moved over and over, building something Erica wasn’t sure she would ever come back from.

Franky’s thumb came into play and Erica lurched towards orgasm, her whimpers completely smothered in Franky’s shoulder. Her hand gripped the back of Franky’s neck, fingernails making half-moon shapes as her hips jerked.

Three fingers now, and the slight edge of discomfort pushed Erica to the precipice. Oh God, she was going to fall over and come. She was going to come pushing down on Franky’s fingers, hard and complete, and she was so close.

But the thumb stopped and the fingers inside stopped moving so hard, and they curled, keeping her on the edge but not letting, never letting her fall over. Erica’s head fell back, her eyes pleading as she whimpered.

“Shh.” Franky leaned down and gave a whisper of a kiss across her mouth before moving south at the most frustrating pace ever.

Erica stuffed her fist in her mouth and grabbed the pillow next to her, because those fingers were barely moving but they were moving enough to keep her just moments from orgasm. Teeth caught the edge of her navel again and she thought she could see stars through the concrete ceiling.

Teeth found the smooth, bare skin of her mound as it curved over and, when the whisper of a breath brushed against her clitoris, she had to bite her hand. When Franky’s tongue found her wet lips, just above the three fingers still buried inside her, she nearly broke skin. When it flicked against her clitoris, she couldn’t stop it and she arched. Three fingers curled, a second flick and she was gone.

Erica had never come so hard or so long in her life. She’d also never come this silently, tears rolling down her face as she fought not to cry out and as fingers drew out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable.

Then Franky was kissing her way up Erica’s body until they were level, and soft lips were kissing away the tears that still streaked her cheeks. They lay together, Franky still hovering over her on elbows, their bodies pressed together, until Erica could finally get control of her breathing.

Franky’s nose nuzzled her ear, and the whisper was barely audible. “You should go before someone finds us.”

For all Erica knew, someone had found them. If someone had lifted the flap covering the tiny window in Franky’s cell door, there was no way either of them would have known. And, dangerously, she really didn’t care at all. What she did care about, however, was that she wasn’t leaving like this.

It was remarkably easy to flip Franky onto her back, and Erica enjoyed the startled look in the other woman’s eyes before she let her own eyes drift down. They didn’t have much time, but she knew what she wanted.

She hooked her fingers into grey boy shorts and slid them off, leaving Franky naked under her. She could sense the change in breathing, and she could see the effect fucking her had had on Franky.

Erica rubbed her thumbs across both of Franky’s nipples, hard nubs which sprang to attention. Then she went for it.

She’d never done this before, but it wasn’t as though the mechanics were all that hard to figure out. Franky was already hard and wet. It took a few strokes of her tongue, thumbs parting barely-there lips, and she found the straining clitoris easily. Hard strokes with her tongue, fewer than ten, and the last thing she heard was a strangled gasp before thighs clamped down on her ears and held her in place. She couldn’t really breathe and she didn’t really care.

When Franky fell bonelessly back to the bed, Erica kneeled up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

There were no words as she stood, putting her clothes back on quickly and efficiently. Franky, naked as the day she was born, and shamelessly displayed on top of her bed, watched with one arm flung above her head.

Only when she was dressed did Erica chance a look at the brunette. She swallowed, and thought she could detect the same motion in Franky.

As she slid out of the door, then out of the unit, keeping to the dark areas with her hoody pulled up, she had one thought.

She’d be back.

There was no point in fighting it after all. Erica was screwed and Franky Doyle was the reason. No good could come of it. Great bad, in fact, could come of it. And yet Erica knew she’d be back.

Because she really hadn’t expected soft.

2 Comments

  1. Devje
    Posted 2 October 2013 at 3.53pm | Permalink

    I don’t even watch this show and I thought that was totes amazeballs.

  2. Harmony
    Posted 16 October 2013 at 7.21am | Permalink

    Don’t usually comment but felt one might be due. Glad to see you posting … Great characterization, I really liked this story. Hope every thing goes well with you and your loved ones this year!

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