CHAPTER 29
Sparks
It’s been nine days. Nine small scratches into the wood of the bed frame. Nine days that Astrid has been alone, waiting for me. Nine endless days.
Hudson opens his eyes, rolls over, and threads his arm around my waist. He leaves a trail of kisses along my shoulder.
I hate him.
I hate his puppy dog eyes as he dotes on me like a spoiled housewife.
I hate the chain tethering me to this bed any time we’re not doing a photoshoot.
I hate his camera, constantly capturing my vulnerability, forcing me to smile like a glitzed-up pageant queen.
I hate how gentle he is every time his hands caress my body, every time I fake an orgasm despite my utter contempt for him.
I hate him.
His fingertips graze my stomach before pulling my lips to his. I know what comes next. He loves the way my body feels first thing in the morning. Every day is the same. He’ll roll over and whisper sweet nothings, worshiping me on the altar he forced me to sit on.
Nothing like Jack. Jack took pride in leaving bruises and welts, choking me until I passed out.
It was clear where we stood. Behave, or else.
It’s not like that with Hudson. His touch is so gentle and tender, it’s nauseating.
It doesn’t feel like what I know abuse and rape to be.
Just once, I want him to snap. Yank my hair, bite my neck, growl savagely as he goes down on me.
That would feel more real than his adoring smiles and imitated affection. It would feel less like Astrid.
At first, I thought thinking of Astrid was a coping mechanism, a way to detach myself, keep myself strong.
Now, I’m not so sure. The way he moves, the way he touches me, the way he talks.
It’s eerily similar to her. I remember all of the moments he intruded on – Astrid and I talking on the roof, our date to the carnival, making love to her in her apartment.
Is it possible he… studied her? It’s almost as if he is trying to replicate her affection, copying known strategies of wooing me.
To think of Astrid as he touches me just feels like a betrayal to her.
No, hitting me would be better, would feel better.
Today will be different. Today I’ll lead, forcing him to try a new tactic. It’ll be faux passion, but at least it will be something I can control, something I have a say in. God knows there’s nothing else that I can do anything about.
Before Hudson can slide onto me, I push his shoulders into the mattress.
He raises an eyebrow, but submissively lets me take the reins.
I drag my nails over his chest, smiling when I get a faint hiss to escape his lips.
He springs free of his boxers as I pull down the waistband.
I move to straddle him, but my leg is pulled out from under me and I fall onto his chest. I turn and glare at the thick, weighty chain tautly holding back my ankle. My mask shatters.
“No!”
One thing. I wanted to do one thing. He dresses me, feeds me, touches me. Just this once, I wanted to at least dictate the terms of my rape. I’m sick of this bed, sick of this room. I’m sick of waiting, biding my time, playing the role that he crafted for me.
“Get it off!” I scream, tugging at the chain with both hands.
Angry tears stream down my cheeks as the chain clanks, otherwise unperturbed by my outburst. Hudson places a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off, hysterically struggling with my restraint.
“Get it off! I swear to god I’ll break my leg or this bed, whichever snaps first! ” That got his attention.
“Charlotte!” Hudson pins my shoulders to the mattress, straddling my hips. I jerk underneath him, still fighting to free my ankle. “Charlotte, stop!”
“Hudson, please.” I look through my tears into his eyes, his concern blatantly splashed across his face. I try to think of what I should be saying, instead of the spew of profanity I want to spit so badly. “Please, take it off. It’s been a week. I’ve been perfect. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Hudson hesitates, skeptically searching my face for lies and deceit. It just makes me cry harder, certain that he was going to walk away and leave me here.
“Hudson,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Just five minutes, please.”
“You’re right,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “I haven’t given you a chance to earn back my trust. That’s not fair.”
I watch him as he digs the key out of the dresser and unlocks the cuff around my ankle. Instantly, I jerk my leg away, hugging it to my chest. Hudson detaches the anchor and places the chain back in the dresser. He comes back to the bed and wraps me in his arms.
Breathe, Sparks. Play the role. Put the mask back together. I lean into his shoulder, burying my face into his neck.
“Thank you,” I mumble, although my stomach lurches at the thought of thanking this man for anything.
“You’re welcome, Charlotte.”
I decide right here and now, I will not be here for a tenth day. Fuck Hudson. Fuck this cabin.
Hudson makes us breakfast – oatmeal with fruit. Hudson does my makeup – red lipstick and eyeliner. Hudson picks out my outfit – yet another evening gown. This one is deep maroon with a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves. Yippee, I can wear a bra with this dress. Fuck Hudson.
“Do you want to take pictures outside?” I offer as Hudson glides the zipper up my back.
“No, we’ll stay inside.” At first I think he still doesn’t trust me – he shouldn’t – but he continues, “It’s supposed to rain soon.”
“Ah, wouldn’t want to ruin my makeup.” I smooth out the front of the dress.
“The only thing that can smudge your makeup is my lips,” he whispers in my ear. He runs his fingers through my hair, detangling my curls.
“Maybe I do want to ruin my makeup then,” I purr, leaning my head back. I resist the urge to gag. I know what he wants. I can give it to him.
“Go stand along the wall,” he chuckles. “That will be a nice backdrop.”
“Actually Hudson,” I say demurely, fluttering my eyelashes. “Would you be okay if I stood near the fireplace? I’m a bit cold.”
“Of course, Charlotte.” The eyelashes always fucking work. He rubs my arms, trying to impart some warmth.
I smile gratefully as I walk toward the fireplace. The truth is, I’m not cold. Honestly, I’m actually a little warm. But Hudson doesn’t have to know that.
I kneel in front of the mantle, draping the skirt to show off my curves.
The camera still makes my skin crawl. The lens is always there, watching, capturing my image for him to fixate on later.
It doesn’t change anything. I have to play the role.
Smile. Bat your eyelashes. You’ll kill him soon.
I know the poses he likes, easily cycling through them as the camera shutter goes wild. Click. Click. Click.
“You look beautiful.” Hudson lowers the camera, taking a second to stand there and admire me. Prick.
I lower my head, hiding behind my hair. My eyes flick up to his, and he is transfixed.
Hook, line... I stand up slowly, each move deliberate and precise.
My hands sneak behind my back and lower the zipper.
The dress falls from my frame, crumpling on the floor.
Hudson gasps as the firelight backlights my silhouette. Sinker.
“I’m going to the bedroom.” I step out of the dress and kick it behind me. “I hope you’ll keep me company.”
I stride off toward the bedroom, not waiting for his response. My hips sway sensually as I walk. I risk a glance behind, relieved to find he is following me. Keep your eyes on me, asshole.
In the bedroom, I grab his lapel and shove him against the wall. Hudson tenses before my lips crash into his. He relaxes then, hitching one of my legs against his hip.
“You always touch me so gently,” I whisper into his ear. “I’ve been craving something a bit more… assertive. I think it’s time I show you how to fuck, instead of making love.”
“I know how to fuck.” A deep growl comes from his throat.
“I’m not convinced.” Stall, Sparks. We need time.
Hudson takes that as a challenge, lifting me and throwing me onto the bed. He straddles me before the mattress can fully absorb the shock, placing a hand over my throat. A wave of panic washes over me, but I force it down. Be careful what you wish for.
He grips both of my wrists in his other hand, pinning them above my head. I squirm beneath him, hoping it reads as playful and not scared. He’s too busy kissing me to notice. His tongue forces his way into my mouth, exploring my teeth. He pulls away suddenly, letting go of me as he does.
“Do you smell something?” He asks, alarmed.
“Just you.” I grab his lapel and pull him back down. “And you smell good.”
I move to kiss him again, but he’s not satisfied by my explanation. Shit, I need more time. He jogs back into the living room, and I slide on the nightgown that I discarded earlier. I freeze as I see the wall of fire enveloping the far wall, already billowing thick black smoke.
Huh. Maybe I don’t need to stall any more.
Hudson jumps into action, filling a bucket of water at the sink. It’s far too late for that. I sprint to the door, tugging at the handle. Even in broad daylight, I can’t figure out why the door won’t open. There are no visible locks. The window is barred. How the fuck does the door open?
“Hudson!” I cry out. “I can’t open the door!”
“We need to put out the fire!” He flings the bucket of water at the flame. It doesn’t slow the growing inferno.
“Hudson!” I’m starting to actually get concerned now. “Hudson, help me!”
He takes a step back, calculating something in his head. His math comes out close to mine and he abandons his firefighting efforts. Hudson races to his desk, grabbing a phone hidden in one of the drawers.
“Hudson!” I shout again. “Open the fucking door!”
“I’m coming!”
Hudson steps in front of me and reaches through the window. The pane of glass hinges and lifts up. I hear him fumbling with a deadbolt on the outside of the door. Motherfucker. I hate this cabin.