Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 2

When the taxi pulled over, he paid the driver with a crisp bill, his hand shaking slightly. He stepped out into the alley, the axe hidden under his trench coat. His heart was pounding in his ears as he approached the building. He knew Paul's routine, he'd be home by now, probably getting ready for bed. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

Y/N took the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the empty stairwell. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, heightening his senses. He could hear the faint sound of a TV through the walls, and he knew he was close. He reached Paul's floor and took a deep breath, composing himself. The hallway was dimly lit, the flicker of the fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the floor. He found the apartment and listened, his breath held tight in his chest.

There was no sound coming from inside. Good. He slipped the axe from his coat and gripped it tightly, feeling the cold steel against his palm. The door was unlocked, just as he'd expected. The predictability of it all was almost disappointing. He pushed it open and stepped inside, the scent of Paul's cologne wafting through the air. It was faint, but it was enough to set his teeth on edge. The apartment was a mess, clothes strewn about, takeout containers littering the floor. It was a stark contrast to Y/N's meticulous abode, a reflection of the chaos that was about to unfold.

Paul's bedroom was at the end of the hall, the TV casting a flickering blue light. He could see the outline of his body beneath the rumpled sheets. Y/N's hand tightened around the axe handle. He took a step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his weight. The TV volume was low, a muffled laugh track playing in the background. It was the perfect cover for what was about to happen.

He approached the bed, his breathing shallow and quick. The anger that had been simmering all day was now a raging inferno, threatening to consume him. He raised the axe, the muscles in his arms straining. He could almost feel the impact, the sweet release that would come with it. But something held him back. Was it fear? Regret? Or was it the quiet voice of reason, whispering that this wasn't who he truly was?

For a moment, he hovered there, the axe poised to strike. Then, with a shaky exhale, he lowered it. He couldn't do it. Not like this. He needed to be in control, not a slave to his emotions. He needed to be...smarter.

He set the axe down beside the bed, his heart racing. He'd find another way. He knew Paul's weaknesses, his addiction to prescription pills, his habit of leaving the window open when he was out of town. The opportunities were endless, and Y/N had a knack for making plans come to fruition. He'd make it look like an accident, or better yet, get someone else to do the dirty work. The thought brought a sly smile to his lips.

Y/N took a step back, his eyes scanning the room. He noticed the unlocked window and the half-empty pill bottle on the nightstand. It was almost too easy. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort to restrain himself. Instead, he'd leave a little gift for Paul. He grabbed a business card from his pocket and placed it on the pill bottle, the corners lined up precisely with the edges. It was a message, clear and simple: I know.

He turned to leave, the axe forgotten on the floor. As he stepped into the hallway, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the reflection of a man on the edge of sanity. But he wasn't that person, not really. He was better than that. He was a master of the game, a player who knew when to hold back and when to make his move. He'd wait, bide his time, and strike when the moment was perfect.

Y/N left. His heart was still racing, but now it was a mix of excitement and anticipation rather than pure anger. He had the upper hand, and he knew it. The elevator doors whispered open, and he stepped inside.

Back in the alley, the cool night air washed over him as he took a moment to collect himself, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie. The rain had started to fall, a gentle patter against the pavement. It was the perfect cover for what he would've done. He flagged down another taxi, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

The drive to his own apartment was a blur, his thoughts racing with the myriad of ways he could orchestrate Paul's downfall. He knew it had to be perfect, a masterstroke that no one would suspect. The cab pulled up outside the gleaming tower that was his home, and he handed the driver another crisp bill. "Keep the change," he said, his voice steady once more.

He slipped back into the penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him. Evelyn looked up from the couch, the TV's glow illuminating her face. She could tell he was still on edge, and she knew exactly what he needed to unwind. Without a word, she slid off the couch and knelt before him, her eyes looking up with a mix of love and submission. Y/N's breath hitched as she unbuckled his belt, her hands deft and sure.

Her soft, warm mouth wrapped around him, and he felt the tension in his body begin to ease. The way she looked up at him, her eyes half-closed with desire, was intoxicating. He gripped the back of her head, guiding her as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around him with a skill that never ceased to amaze him. The world outside the apartment faded away, the only sound the wet sucking noises and her muffled moans of pleasure.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Just like that." His hand tightened in her hair, pulling gently, and she moaned in response. It was a power play, a silent exchange of dominance and submission that only added to the eroticism of the moment. He could feel himself growing harder, his pulse quickening in time with her movements.

Evelyn's eyes never left his, her gaze locked on his as she worked her magic. The tip of her tongue traced the vein that ran along the underside of his shaft, her teeth grazing him just enough to make him gasp. Her cheeks hollowed as she took him deeper, her hands cupping his tight balls, her nails digging in just shy of pain. The sight of her, on her knees before him, was almost enough to send him over the edge.

"You're so good, baby," he murmured, his voice strained. She looked up, her eyes glazed with a mix of love and lust, and took him even deeper. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. He felt his control slipping, his thoughts of Paul Allen and the axe slowly dissipating in the face of her attentions.

Evelyn's hand snaked up his thigh, her nails digging into his skin as she increased her pace. He could feel the tension building in his abdomen, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. "Harder," he urged, his voice barely a whisper. She complied, her hand moving in a firm, steady rhythm as her mouth worked him with a ferocity that matched his own.

Her eyes remained locked on his, her cheeks flushed with a mix of passion and submission. He knew she liked it when he took charge, when he showed her who was in control. It was a dance they'd performed countless times, a silent ballet of power and pleasure that never failed to leave them both breathless.

"Faster," he demanded, his voice a low growl. She complied, her head bobbing up and down, her teeth scraping gently against him. He groaned, the sound echoing through the living room. The rain outside had picked up, the drops hitting the windows like a symphony of desire. The sound only served to heighten his arousal, the anticipation of his climax building with each stroke of her tongue.

His grip tightened in her hair, his hips bucking slightly. "I'm going to come," he warned, his voice strained with pleasure. Evelyn moaned around him, her eyes never leaving his. The sight of her, so eager to please, was almost too much to handle. He felt his orgasm approaching, the tension coiling in his balls, ready to be released.

With a final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself into her mouth, the warmth and wetness enveloping him. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, and he felt a surge of power. He'd won this round, but the game was far from over. He helped her to her feet, his heart still racing, and kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her lips. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice still a little shaky.

Evelyn simply nodded, her eyes searching his for any signs of the monster he'd left at the door of Paul's apartment. She didn't know the extent of his dark thoughts, but she knew he wasn't okay. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Y/N forced a smile, his mind racing. "It's just work stuff," he said, leading her back to the bedroom. "Let's just forget about it for now."

The rest of the night was a blur of passionate lovemaking, the kind that left them both sated and exhausted. But even as he held her close, his thoughts drifted back to Paul Allen. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd made a mistake, leaving the axe behind. It was a loose end, and in his world, loose ends were unacceptable.