Call Me | American Psycho Reader Insert

Chapter 18

He took a step back, his eyes traveling over her body, the hunger in them unmistakable. "But first," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper, "why don't you do something for me?"

Christy's heart was racing, but she knew better than to refuse. She swallowed hard and nodded, her eyes flickering to the letter opener still in his hand. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice a shaky thread of sound.

Y/N's smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with a predatory light. "Why don't you do something to help us relax?" he suggested, his voice a silky caress. "Step onto my desk, darling, and give me a little show."

Christy's eyes widened in shock, but the fear that held her in its vice-like grip was stronger than any embarrassment she might have felt. She knew better than to refuse him, especially now. With shaking legs, she stepped onto the desk, her eyes never leaving his as she began to unbutton her blouse.

Y/N's smile grew wider as he watched her, the letter opener still in his hand, a grim reminder of the power dynamics that had shifted so dramatically in the room. The sound of each button popping open was like a gunshot in the tense silence, echoing through the office like a symphony of submission.

Christy's eyes remained locked on his, her hands trembling as she slid the blouse off her shoulders, revealing her lacy bra. She felt exposed and vulnerable, but she knew better than to fight it. The fear in her stomach was a living, writhing thing, but she couldn't deny the perverse thrill that shot through her as she felt his eyes devouring her.

Y/N leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he took in the sight of her. The letter opener lay forgotten on the desk, the crimson stain stark against the gleaming wood. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a dark whisper. "Now, let's see what else you've got for me."

Christy's hands moved mechanically as she unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts bounced slightly with the movement, the pale skin stark against the crimson background of the detective's blood. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly, not wanting to spoil the performance. Her eyes remained locked on Y/N's, searching for any sign of mercy or compassion, but all she saw was hunger, a ravenous need for power and control.

Y/N leaned back in his chair, his tie askew and his suit spattered with blood. The sight of Christy, trembling and exposed on his desk, only served to fuel his desire, his twisted sense of entitlement. He knew he had her exactly where he wanted her, trapped in the spiderweb of his own making. "Keep going," he murmured, his voice a velvet-covered whip crack.

Christy's hands moved with jerky, mechanical precision, her eyes never leaving his. The sound of fabric sliding against the desk was the only noise in the room, a strong contrast to the cacophony of emotions raging inside her. She felt like a marionette, her strings pulled by the sadistic puppet master that was Y/N. She stepped out of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles like a dark puddle, and kicked off her heels. The cold air of the office prickled her skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Y/N's eyes remained locked on hers, his smile a chilling parody of affection. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice a serrated knife edge of approval. "Just like that."

Christy felt the cold steel of the desk against her bare skin as she began to sway, her movements awkward and forced. She had never felt more degraded, more used. But she knew that fighting back would only make things worse, so she danced for him, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged animal's. She tried to focus on anything but the dead detective on the floor, the coppery smell of blood, and the cold metal in Y/N's hand.

Y/N leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached up to trace a line of crimson from her ankle to her thigh. He brought his mouth to her leg, pressing a gentle kiss just above her knee. His touch was a strange mix of tenderness and violence, a reminder of the monster that lurked beneath the surface. He kissed his way up her thigh, his tongue tracing a path that sent shivers down her spine.