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The Sexual Harassment Suit Will Not Be Filed Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2015-11-30 19:11:24 +0000 UTC Emma could feel Regina’s eyes on her—all over her, in fact—searching for the slightest hint of weakness, probably. Well, she wouldn’t be disappointed. Emma could feel sweat like acupuncture needles, on her brow, the nape of her neck, under her arms, behind her knees. How could she suddenly be doing this at the end of the work-day, right when she should be wrapping up to go home? She should’ve been given advance notice, like for a meeting. A chance to freshen up. What she wouldn’t give for a hobo shower right about now…“’The e-mail tells me to go to Regina’s office,’” Emma read, forcing her voice to be as strong and strident as it can be. She won’t be intimidated. She’ll read this goddamn e-mail like it’s King Lear. “So I get up and I go. It feels like a mile, going through the dark office with all the darkened computer screens, the only light coming from Regina’s waiting office. Finally, I get there and I’m feeling this burning in my legs, like I’ve had a really good jog… yes, Lily, such a thing exists…’”
“Speak up, please,” Regina said, jerking Emma back to reality. Not letting her lose herself in her recital, the bitch, her voice was perfectly audible…
Emma raised her voice. “”I open the door. Or I try to, because just as I’m reaching it, it flies open, and who should be coming out but Ruby, bare-ass naked. Thank you, subconscious.’” Emma deliberately met Regina’s eyes to dryly enunciate “’Smiley face.’”
Regina offered her a thin smile as she paused the recording. Then pressed her intercom button. “Ruby, would you join us for a moment?”
“Yeah, boss,” Ruby replied, and Emma suddenly felt her heart skip a beat.
Goddamn, but Regina knew every trick in the book. That confidence was part of what made her so… appealing, but it was a bitch to have it turned on you. As hot—Emma meant to think ‘empowering,’ she immediately corrected herself—as it was to see Regina demolish some jackass who doubted her credentials or criticized her because of her personal life rather than her work—and as fun as it was to imagine what else Regina might be a master of—at the moment, Emma wished Regina was at least a little bit human, feeling at least a little bit of the vulnerability she felt.
Ruby came in, still looking like she and Regina were role-playing some sort of Mad Men sex scene. Regina greeted her with a warm smile, in marked contrast to the decidedly more pinched one she gave Emma. At the moment, Emma would’ve given anything to be on Regina’s grin list.
“Emma here,” Regina said, “is under the impression that we’re lovers.”
“I didn’t say that!” Emma said quickly.
“You implied it.”
“I did not!”
Regina rewound the camcorder. Played the last few seconds. The audio quality was excellent. Emma had bought a digital camera and somehow it only managed pictures in sepia tones. Of course Regina would practically have her own Q Branch in comparison.
“I think that’s a very clear implication,” Regina said, while Emma looked around for a fire extinguisher that could handle her burning cheeks. “Now, Ruby—are we dating?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you single?”
“No. There’s this chick in security, she’s great, tightest ass you’ve ever seen—“
“Mulan?” Emma guessed, and Ruby nodded enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Ruby,” Regina said with a note of finality. “And am I single?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thanks. That will be all.”
Dismissed, Ruby turned on her heel and left the room. She closed the door behind her.
“You may resume,” Regina said, pressing the record button again.
Emma gave her a fixed look, barely glancing at the paper. She remembered the dream all too clearly. “’I go into the office and there Regina is. Behind her desk.’”
Emma paused, noting Regina’s current position with dark irony. As if in response—and there was definitely a wan acknowledgment in how Regina’s eyebrows jostled curiously—Regina got up from her perch, came around her desk, and now leaned against it, facing Emma.
She looked even more unbelievable in full, her pencil skirt gracing her legs like dark leaves after a brisk spring rain, her white silk blouse tight to her body. It’d fallen lower with her motion, the unbuttoned portion gaping wide over the beginnings of the black lace camisole underneath.
Emma felt absurdly tempted by that glimpse, like Regina had set out bait for her and was ready to spring a trap when she went for it. There was the slightest of upticks at the corner of Regina’s mouth; a smirking smile waiting to be born when Emma accepted the challenge. Emma didn’t know if she should ignore it or… there was no way Regina wanted her to make a move, was there?
Of course not. Absolutely not. She was just trying to fluster Emma and Emma had to be unflusterable. Or, you know, an actual word.
Damn, Regina’s necklace… Emma would give a lot to spend five minutes as that necklace. Be close to that cleavage and be wrapped around Regina’s throat? Wasn’t that the American Dream?
“’She starts riding me—‘“ Here Emma paused, giving Regina her own impish look. She might not’ve been able to keep a relationship going for so much as three dates, but she could sure as hell get one started, and looks like the one she gave Regina were a big reason why. In terms of eyefucking, her dick was bomb.
“’As usual,’” Emma continued, gratified to see Regina blink a few times. “’I don’t know what it is—no one likes getting read the riot act. But when Regina does it, it’s like I’m a teenager again. My palms are sweaty and my throat is dry and my knees are weak. All that…’”
Emma paused again, unconsciously this time. Christ, this really was embarrassing. Was Regina really doing it for some sort of ego trip or was she trying to cover her ass against some sort of lawsuit?
“’All that intelligence and intensity focused on me, even castigating me, it’s intoxicating. I almost want her to make me cry. Slap me. Hug me and tell me she knows I’m doing my best. I don’t even know. All I know is, in the dream I don’t have to know. I don’t have to worry about doing the right thing, because Regina takes control. She tells me I’ve been slacking off, being inefficient, the usual—and that if I’m not getting paid to work, maybe I should be doing something else…’”
Emma’s voice trailed off. Her eyes had been locked on the page, going over the crisp black letters, not a single dot of blotted ink. Regina’s printer had put it all down perfect, making it look realer than real. On her computer, the words had been minutely distorted by her old monitor with its lightly smeared screen, but on paper, they might as well have been carved in stone.
She couldn’t bear to look up, to see Regina waiting expectantly. Her hands gripping the edge of her desk. Those long fingers curling into the darkness underneath…
“Is this what you want?” Emma asked in a low voice, wondering if Regina would call the whole thing off, say it was all a prank, that she just wanted to know how far Emma would go before sniffing bullshit.
But Regina stared back at her. Her blouse seemed to have lost another button. Emma could see more of the curves of her breasts, the darkness inside her half closed blouse, where the lace camisole tattooed her bare body. Just one brushing touch to make that unbuttoned blouse fall open, to see Regina’s plunging cleavage in more detail than ever before—to know if that look in her eyes was desire or hatred.
“Keep going,” Regina said, her voice husky. Almost hoarse.
Emma didn’t look at the paper again. “’Her legs are crossed, but when she uncrosses them, I can see into her skirt. She’s not wearing any panties. Her cunt is beautiful.’” The word—crude and overwhelming—sounded bizarrely loud in the office. Like someone could overhear.
Regina shifted her legs. Her skirt moved a scant half-inch up her thigh. Emma could see smooth skin, firm muscle, tense muscle. She looked back up into Regina’s eyes. It was getting hard to look away from them for too long.
“’I start to go to her. She says no: I’m her employee. She’s the boss. I should show my…’” Emma had to swallow. “’My respect. I get down on my knees. Then I put my hands on the floor. I swear, I could feel every fiber of the carpet. Like I was really touching it. And, on all fours, I cross the office, convinced I wasn’t dreaming, feeling the carpet under my knees and my hands and feeling Regina look at me like she’s looking through me into that hot pit in my stomach, just like when I’m at work and I catch her staring at me from across the room. I crawl underneath her desk.”
Emma was acutely aware of her breathing. Every breath granting her a reprieve from having to read this, and frustratingly putting more distance between seeing what Regina’s reaction would be.
“’I kiss her knee and she spreads her legs and I can smell her, really smell her, you know how long it’s been since I’ve smelled a woman there? And I could’ve sworn that was how Regina’s cunt would smell, I woke up almost wanting to sniff her panties so I could know for… for…’”
“For sure?” Regina ventured. Her hands weren’t on the desk anymore. They were delicately poised on the hem of her skirt, thumb and forefinger alone, skimming its length up her knees, up her thighs...
“For sure,” Emma confirmed numbly. This wasn’t some game. Regina was way too dignified to be so brazen for a joke. This was actually—she was actually propositioning her. Her eyes practically fled from Regina, like she’d been staring into the sun—finding no solace in the stark, sexual words of the document. “’I bow my head, feeling my ears rub against her inner thighs as I move closer and closer to her cunt. I knew from the beginning it was wet, but the closer I get, the more I learn just how wet she was. How much she wanted me. I decide to try something different, something I think will please her. Closing my eyes, I—‘“
That was the end of the page. Emma moved to shift through the sheaf of papers to the one below it, but her fingers were clumsy, and she sorta—crumpled the page on top and dropped a few and, worst of all, said “Oopsie!”
Regina cocked her head. “I think that’s enough.”
She stopped the recording. She’d been sitting parallel to the camera—it’d caught none of what she’d been doing.
“I can keep going… if you want…” Emma said through the lump in her throat. Then—either because she wanted to show Regina up or just wanted to spend more time in Regina’s presence on the off-chance Regina’s hands could do more things with her skirt—she went a step further. “You can leave the camera off.”
There. That was about as open an invitation as Emma could make without combusting on the spot. Her anxiety was screaming at her to jump through the nearest window (fastest way to leave the building), her pussy was demanding she take off some underwear (her nipples concurred), and her stomach was standing by to reintroduce last night’s peach cobbler if Regina did the sane thing and told her to fuck off.
“I like having the camera on.” Regina smiled jauntily. “Do you know why?”
Emma felt faint. Was this what being hypnotized felt like? Stop looking at Regina’s skirt, she is definitely still wearing it! “Why?”
“Because when it’s late at night, and I’m bored, I can watch this recording. I have a very nice TV, Em-ma. Great sound system, too.”
“I bet,” Emma said, sounding vaguely like she was having a stroke.
“And… while I watch it, in the privacy of my own home, I can touch myself. My womanhood. My breasts. My clit.” Hearing Regina Mills say the word ‘clit,’ Emma thought she came a little. Regina’s smile widened, like she had some radar for Mills-induced orgasms. “Whatever I want, really. I’m sure you’ve thought about touching me, so you can understand how much I would enjoy it.”
Emma just nodded. Had she died? Was this Purgatory? Please, Demon Regina, show me some more of your gams before poking me with a pitchfork.
Regina nodded to herself, like she was more mentally setting plans aloud than communicating with Emma. “And watching you, listening to you—I think I’ll most definitely come. While I imagine you under my desk. Eating me out.” She clapped her hands together in the self-congratulatory manner of all office bosses. Emma jumped. “I just have that same fantasy, you know. What’re the odds? Having you service me while I… take a phone call or compose an e-mail. It’s the kind of thing I’d really enjoy.”
Emma’s thighs squeezed together so tightly she’d need a crowbar to get them apart. “Uh-huh,” she said, unable to fully close her mouth after that utterance.
Regina scooped up the camera. “Well. Thank you for helping me get this out of the way so quickly and painlessly. I was hoping to have this wrapped up by the end of the business day. I think you should be able to catch the subway and I might be able to avoid the brunt of rush hour, which is a great relief. Don’t you find it hard to unwind when you leave unfinished business at the office?”
This time, Emma didn’t answer. The capacity for speech had deserted her. All she could think of was the sensation of afterglow in her groin—the wet, leaden warmth of the voluptuous pleasure she’d felt. Regina had done that. Without even touching her. Without taking off a single item of clothing.
Regina looked Emma over, looking faintly embarrassed by the state she’d reduced her to. Then she shrugged and moved for the door. “I think I’ll give you a raise,” she said in passing.
Emma grabbed her arm.
Regina looked at her as usual. Warningly. Chidingly. Challengingly. “Miss Swan—“
“Emma,” she corrected, and kissed Regina just as hard as she could.
