Erica doesn't see Franky for a week after that. Their next meeting is brief and painfully formal, but they're talking. It's not about what Erica wants to talk about - the kiss, the hand on her throat, the fact that her office is the least appropriate place for something like that to happen (as if there is one, at all), or the fact that she's burning hot as soon as Franky looks at her - but about Franky's upcoming school assignments.
She hands them over to Erica at the end of their meeting (they're in the library, and suddenly the space that once meant sanctuary for them is the most oppressive room in the whole prison) and leaves with this incomprehensible smile on her face. She's thinking about the kiss.
That night Erica goes home and, thinking about it until she's so aroused she's actually disgusted with herself, she stays in the living room all night to avoid looking at Mark.
He has no idea her whole world has changed, only that they've stopped having sex. Again.
Erica falls asleep after reviewing Franky's work with a glass of red wine, and she dreams of her insistent mouth and her long fingers applying the gentlest of pressure to Erica's windpipe, and a strong thigh pressing against her through the material of her pants.
She wakes before sunrise with a migraine and a throbbing ache that radiates from between her legs. Mark is hovering in the kitchen, looking foul tempered, so Erica has to dash into the shower to find any relief.
If dreaming about Franky kissing her again make her so wet she needs to get off immediately, she can't even imagine actually kissing Franky again.
But it does happen again, of course, it has to happen again. But this time it's in the library, in the back corner where the view from the cameras is obstructed by the odd placement of the bookshelves.
it's a small fifteen minute window that Erica had planned on putting towards finishing her review of Franky's work. But like she could smell the opportunity, Franky enters the library with a bang and stalks to the back where they used to study when Erica was just an advocate and Franky was just her pupil. (Like she was ever just her pupil.)
Erica's less surprised at Franky being early than she is at the fact that she's arrived unaccompanied.
"All alone, Miss Davidson?"
"Shouldn't you have an escort?"
"I came here early to finish my reading," she waves the law book in her hand at Erica before setting it down on the table. "Where's the monitor?"
"I excused him early. I needed… some quiet." Erica regrets it so acutely in that moment because Franky doesn't take a seat. Instead, she moves around the table to where Erica is sitting and, with the tips of her fingers, pushes Erica's chin up until they're looking into each others' eyes.
"We're not going to talk about this, are we?"
"About wh-"
Franky doesn't give her the chance to respond. Instead, she leans down and presses her mouth to Erica's. Her hand slides down Erica's throat, four fingers on the nape of her neck and her thumb applying just the hint of pressure to Erica's windpipe to keep her head tilted back just right. Erica groans Franky's name, a needy noise choked by the pressure of Franky's thumb.
"You like that." Franky whispers, her mouth still pressed to Erica's. She brings up her other hand, laces her fingers behind Erica's neck, and uses both thumbs to apply just enough pressure to make each one of Erica's breaths rasp noisily. She's panting in small gasps and she can feel her erratic heartbeat racing against Franky's fingers. She has zero control in this situation, so she looks into Franky's eyes - seeing the mixed wonderment and arousal - and just nods her admission helplessly.
Franky kisses her again, hard and unwavering in its mercilessness, but moves one hand from Erica's throat and grazes the curve of her breast over her shirt. When she palms the full curve of it Erica lets out a soft cry and then a whine when Franky pulls away.
She almost complains, but then Franky looks over her shoulder and Erica can finally hear footsteps in the hallway and the loud voice of the library monitor.
"You can't ignore this any more."
"Why?" It's the wrong question to ask so breathlessly, but she can't help herself.
"Because next time I'm not going to stop there. Because next time I'm going to fuck you and when you come you'll be saying my name. And I'm going to need more than five stolen minutes with you." Franky looks dead serious, the library doors swing open, and then she takes a seat opposite Erica. Her textbook is open in a flash and she looks like nothing ever happened.
Except it did happen, Erica's lips are swollen and her throat is tender. She twists her hips through their whole tutoring session, searching for a little relief to the ache of arousal. Franky catches her squirming at one point and, though she doesn't say anything, she smirks in such a lascivious way that Erica feels her whole body flush with new arousal.
That night she chokes on a sob of Franky's name as she touches herself in the shower, the sound reverberating off the vaulted ceiling like the sweetest music. She's glad Mark's working late because she's loud and the moans slip from her unguarded as she comes so hard her knees go weak and she has to brace her back against the shower wall.
She slips out of the house before dawn and runs three miles before the sun makes an appearance. Her chest aches and her legs burn but all she can think about is Franky wanting to fuck her, and how it would feel.
She wonders if it would be obvious if she called in sick, but takes another shower, instead. Mark is still asleep, so she muffles Franky's name against the heel of her hand as she comes hard and fast, and then washes herself clean.
She won't see Franky privately for another week, but when they pass each other in the yard, Franky mumbles something low and dirty that rolls straight through Erica's being and between her legs. She thinks, maybe, one tutoring session a week is not enough.