CHAPTER 27
Sparks
Click. Click. Click.
Lethargy weighs on my limbs. Am I back in my crate? No, I’m not in some contorted position, stuffed inside a box with no regard. Actually, I’m comfortable. A soft mattress supports my stiff back, and I seem to have been laid down with care, ensuring the pillow fits my neck.
Click. Click. Click.
There’s that sound again. The all-too-familiar camera shutter.
Wait, the stalker. Astrid! I force my way through the heavy fatigue to open up my eyes.
Logs line the walls and ceiling. The cabin is sparsely furnished, but still feels homey, with a stack of quilts in the corner.
There are plenty of windows to let in natural light, but thick bars cross the panes.
As I examine the room further, I determine that the sheer number of windows are necessary due to the lack of electricity in the cabin.
No outlets, no lightbulbs, nothing. My stalker stands in the corner, camera in hand.
It’s amazing how even in this well-lit room, he can blend into the shadows.
My breath catches in my chest as the shutter clicks, capturing more photos.
“Welcome home.” He lowers the camera and smiles genuinely. My brain spins, trying to think of something to say amidst the fog clinging to my mind.
“Thank you.” I sit up slowly, suspicious of his intentions.
A long evening gown is tangled around my legs. Dark green, halter neck, backless. This is the dress I wore to the gala. Strappy high heels, painted nails, and I can feel a light coat of makeup on my face.
“It’s you,” I state dumbly. How the fuck did I miss this?
“It’s me,” he chuckles, holding out his hands. “My name is Hudson. I’m sorry it took so long to whisk you away, but we’re together now. Just you and me.”
“Hudson,” I repeat. The name feels eerie on my tongue, but he lights up as I say it.
“How long was I out?” I stammer.
“Not too long.” He sits on the bed next to me and tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “Just long enough for me to get you home, make sure you were safe.”
“And Astrid?” I ask quietly, equally scared of his reaction and his answer. “Is she safe?”
“Yes.” He brushes a thumb over my cheek. “She’s with Derek and Licorice.”
I don’t trust him, but I don’t see another option. Fuck, he knows the name of my cat! Maybe Astrid is safe. Maybe I can trust him. But I stare into his eyes, and I can tell. He’s lying. Astrid’s still in danger.
“Can I kiss you, Charlotte?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, softly brushing his lips against mine. He pulls me in deeper, moaning quietly. I panic. Do I resist and push him away? Or do I play along?
I close my eyes and cup his cheek in my hand, trying to push down the feeling of betraying Astrid. I’m doing this for her. I’ll be back for her. I promise. I lean in closer, but he breaks the kiss, panting happily.
“Not yet, darling.” He stands and holds up the camera. “We don’t want to smudge your lipstick yet. Now, smile for me.”
I flinch as the camera goes off, holding up my hands to shield my face from the lens. Hudson lowers the camera and tilts his head confused. I blink rapidly and shake my hands out.
“Sorry,” I stutter. “I wasn’t ready.”
Breathe, Sparks. Astrid needs you. I roll back my shoulders and smile, staring into the lens. I force myself to remain still as Hudson circles me, searching for the best angle. His camera clicks the whole time, taking photo after photo. Suddenly, he pulls away.
“Dammit, I almost forgot!”
He speedwalks into the other room. I hesitantly slide off the bed, following him through the doorway into the main room of the cabin.
A sofa and a few recliners are curved around a crackling fireplace.
There’s a dining table set with fresh flowers near the basic kitchen.
There’s a door in the corner. I think about running, but there’s no way I could get past him and escape in these heels. Patience, Sparks.
Hudson fumbles through a desk. Inside the drawer, hundreds of photos are stacked neatly.
Next to those, I recognize several items I was hoping I just misplaced – ponytails, sunglasses, lip gloss, a pair of underwear.
Oh god. I turn away, trying to hide the wave of nausea that overtakes me.
Hudson spins me back to him, excitement plastered on his face.
He places a small box in my hands and gestures for me to open it.
I hesitantly remove the lid to reveal a pair of silver earrings.
“You never wear jewelry,” he states. “I wanted to get you something pretty. Let me help you put them on.”
My hands shake as his fingers graze my ear.
There’s a reason I never wear earrings. Having metal inside of my body disrupts my electrical flow, crippling my powers.
Jack used this against me before, once with the barbed cuffs, but first with a pair of earrings.
Since then, I haven’t worn a single piece of jewelry, traumatized by the feeling of helplessness.
There isn’t any electricity here to redirect, but the earrings rub salt into the wound.
Does Hudson know about this weakness, or are these genuinely a gift?
I shiver at the thought, though Hudson interprets that as a sign of gratitude.
“I knew you’d love them.” He leads me to the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Now recline on the couch. This will make such a dramatic shot.”
I rub my wrists as I lay on the couch. Hudson adjusts my body, tilting my head and repositioning my arms. It’s hard to breathe under his scrutiny, his piercing eyes taking stock of every detail.
Fixing my smudged lipstick, moving a stray curl, shifting the skirt of my dress so the slit falls on either side of my thigh.
I force myself to lay still, though every part of me wants to cover up, hide from his all-seeing eyes.
When he’s satisfied, he steps back. Coaching me as he looks through the viewfinder.
Look slightly higher. Don’t forget to breathe. Part my lips slightly.
“Your expression right now is indescribable,” Hudson murmurs passionately. “Glossy eyes with a far-away stare. These are going to look so dramatic when they’re printed.”
I hold my pose, staring into space. Every photo cuts at my shield.
Shallow paper cuts atop each other, scoring deeper and deeper.
There must be hundreds by now. I am helpless, on display for him.
I draw a shaky breath as a single tear falls.
He oohs and ahhs, kneeling to catch the perfect shot, oblivious that this pain isn’t posed.
“Let’s take a quick break,” Hudson suggests after a while. “We’ll take more photos in a bit, but there’s something I want to do before we change outfits.”
More photos? I shudder at the thought, nonetheless I’m thankful for my small reprieve. A small boombox in the corner croons a slow jazz ballad. I know what he wants. I can be who he wants me to be.
“Dance with me.” I steel my reserve and look at him through my eyelashes, putting on my sultry mask.
“Absolutely.” Hudson sets down the camera and pulls me to my feet, spinning me in his arms. He pulls me close, our bodies flush together. His thumb wipes the stray tear from my cheek.
“I love this song,” I lie. My fingers curl into his hair as we start to sway. He takes the lead, guiding me across the floor.
“I love you,” he says, staring deeply into my eyes.
“You can’t one-up me like that,” I banter. Don’t make me say it back. Please don’t make me. “That’s not fair.”
“Well, it’s true.” Hudson’s voice is a mere whisper. “I love you, Charlotte.”
Time slows as my eyes scan his face. He’s waiting. I know my line, but my breath catches in my chest. I can’t say it. A beat passes, then another. His eyebrows scrunch together, I’ve waited too long. I need to do something.
My lips crash into his. The momentum of our spinning causes me to stumble, but his arms securely hold me against his chest. I hitch my leg against his hips, the slit allowing the skirt to fall free. His hand slides against my bare skin, creeping higher on my thigh.
My chest is heaving when he pulls away. He eyes me greedily and I can feel his bulge in his pants. I can do this. I’ve done it before. He steps away and shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it on the sofa.
“I think it’s time for the second photo session.” His fingers graze my back, and my dress falls to the ground. I shiver when I realize that I wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. “Lay down in front of the fireplace, keep the heels on.”
The wood is warm beneath my bare skin. The fire’s heat soon causes a thin sheen of sweat to glisten on my body. Hudson returns a second later, camera in hand.
“Take off your panties,” he orders, lust obscuring his features. “I want you to be completely bare to me.”
My hands shake as I remove the last scrap of fabric. Hudson extends a hand, and I give him my panties. He shoves them into his pocket quickly, eager to start shooting.
“How do you want me posed?” I force my shoulders back, not allowing myself to cover my body with my hands, no matter how much his gaze makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t want you posed.” The timbre of his voice has lowered dramatically. “I want to capture you in pure, authentic bliss. No coaching, no direction, just you pleasuring yourself.”
“What?” I can’t breathe. Surely he’s not serious. Masturbating on film?
“Lay back, Charlotte,” he prods. “You know what you like. Show me.”
The soft jazz continues to fill the room.
The fireplace crackles next to me. I can do this.
My hands glide over my ribs, cupping my breasts.
I bite my lip as I close my eyes, feeling my thumbs roll over my exposed nipples.
Exposed. Click. He’s watching. Click. He’s always watching.
Click. My muscles tense and my pulse races, not from arousal but from fear.
I’m vulnerable, every inch of skin on display for his pleasure.
My touch is sickening, my body shrinks away from my fingers.