Lady in Red
patter patter patter patter patter
patter patter patter patter
patter patter patter
patter patter
patter
pat pat pat pat
pat...
...pat...
...pat.
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"I saw you looking at me." Her eyes were half lidded, smiling. Thick with want.
"Oh, did you now?"
"Mmm. Now you owe me a drink."
"Is that how it works?" He wasn't feigning disinterest. He was genuinely apathetic.
"Well. Where I'm from, gentlemen don't typically stare, and if they're caught, they buy ladies drinks."
"I'll let you know when I spot either a gentleman or a lady, then. Maybe we can ask them if that's true."
"Aha! You have jokes?"
"You're laughing, so apparently I do."
"I'm going to sit here." She settled her expensive purse in her lap and took the bar stool next to him.
"Please do." He admired her shapely thighs as subtly as he could, as he tipped his glass.
"You're going to order me a drink. Preferably something with whiskey in it."
"I'll consider it."
"Maybe I should just take yours." He'd placed his scotch on the mahogany of the bar.
"Help yourself."
"I hope you don't mind lipstick on the rim." She smiled as she sipped his cocktail.
"Where else were you planning to leave it?"
"The night is young." She winked at him. "I'm Eden."
He shook her hand, "Patrick." His grin was obvious as the tab was settled.
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pat
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"Show me."
"I don't think you're ready for that. We've only just met." Laughter danced at the edges of his words.
"Do you always assume to know best, when it comes to us poor little women?"
"Of course not. But I know this game. And you are not ready."
"Are you going to give me a speech about trust and limits and safewords?"
"I don't give speeches. Unless soliloquies count."
"What about safewords?"
"Try, 'stop,' or 'I don't like that.' I find those work well."
"Do you actually listen?"
"Will you actually speak?"
"I doubt it. I think I can handle anything you can dish, little man."
"Don't try to taunt me. I don't play that way."
"Or what?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Or I can leave. If I wanted children, I'd have them. I have no patience for childish behavior, especially in the bedroom."
"You just think you're the cat's ass, don't you?" Her bratty tendencies had been stopped cold.
"No. I just know how I like to play. I can tell that you simply are not ready."
"Try me." Her defiance was fierce, and he couldn't help but chuckle.
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pat
pat
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Her apartment was spacious and very high-end. Rising above the city, the mists that hung in the sky clung to her bedroom windows, just as she clung to her demands and assertions. The skyline seemed to be just an arm's reach away as his breath fogged the glass.
Turning away from the sights of the city, he faced the sights of his evening.
She stretched out on the eight-thousand dollar mattress, one arm dangled over the edge as it stretched below a pillow. Her face was tranquil, smiling, and her eyes were closed.
Long and pale, she was once a stunningly beautiful woman. She was old enough to be successful, but young enough to clutch the memory of being fashionably pretty. There was a bitterness about her; not quite a desperation, but an obvious need to be accepted.
She absolutely exuded the need to win. She demanded her desires, and her demands were usually met.
To her, he was a conquest. An adventure. A notch for her antique bedpost.
He smiled, remembering the sounds of those bedposts drumming off the wall of the condo; a bass to her alto, both singing along sweetly to his tune.
She may be a star performer, but he was ever the maestro.
"Do you need anything from the kitchen?" he asked, walking past her and navigating their strewn clothes. His bare feet slapped warmed marble floors.
She continued to smile. Apparently, she had nodded off to sleep.
"I'll take that as a no, then. If you don't mind, I'm going to clean up a little and grab a drink." While gathering dishes, he thought he heard her sigh. Fine china and antique sterling made for interesting and creative games; carefully, he balanced these improvised toys along with discarded condoms, making his way out of the room.
Whistling, he found what he was looking for beneath a bathroom sink, and he began to leave the house in better condition than when he found it.
Mostly.
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pat
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"What's that?"
"Is that hesitation in your voice, girl?" He played to her defiance, while demeaning her to keep her off balance.
"Absolutely not! What do you plan to do with it? I think I like where this is going." You won't.
"I think you liked where I just went." He grinned like he was supposed to do.
"Oh, god, you're making me blush." You're easy.
"Red looks good on you." He silently congratulated himself on the well placed compliment; flattering words were exactly what she expected.
"I'm sure you say that to all the ladies." Sometimes I say nothing at all.
"No. I don't." He was sincere when he said that.
"I believe you, actually." He knew he had her from the moment she sat down at the bar.
"Good. You should." If she only knew what he was thinking.
"So what are you going to do with that?" Hide it.
"What would you like me to do with it?" You were never ready.
"Mmmm. Surprise me." Oh, it will be surprising.
Entering her, pinning her down, Eden smiled as he made her come again.
Soon after, he made her look good in red.
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pat
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The Wüsthof chef's knife slid easily back into her butcher block, after a thorough bleaching. He walked back into her bedroom.
She still had the ghost of a smile, with arm stretched over the side of the bed.
pat
Drips, running from brachial artery down off of fingertips, had all but stopped. What her heart had begun, gravity had helped finish.
Crimson splashed the marble beneath her bedsheets, and they, too, held vermilion court in that silent chamber.
Patrick Bateman calmly donned his charcoal Valentino suit, carefully folding the tie and placing it in his coat pocket. "Hip to Be Square" began playing on his Sony Walkman.
He could finally relax.