Free Caged by Carolyn Faulkner

gorgeously, breathtakingly naked, and simply gaped at him, not saying anything, not even really crying, but sniffling and choking a bit, still clutching what was left of the dress to her.
    If he were whole, he would long since have leaned down to lift her into his arms.  As it was, he had to stand, which wasn’t easy, lean down and grasp her arms just above the elbows to encourage her to get up.  By the time he was able to stretch out—utterly exhausted on the bed not only from all his efforts, but also from the terror her visitors had inspired—she was back where he always put her.
    As much as Cage knew they needed to leave this place as soon as possible, he figured they had at least a day or so before they came back. They’d probably watch the place for a while, as he would do if he were in their place, to see if her fabled husband returned.  And he needed that time to heal as much as he could before he set out again—this time plus one.
    Not really caring any longer what he did to her, Rachel voluntarily put her arms above her head, waiting for him to bind her again. Cage did so, but her easy acquiescence made him very suspicious.  He did make sure that the gun was well away from her, should she somehow get free.  He didn’t like her frame of mind right now at all.
    Not that his body was taking any notice whatsoever.  It wanted more of her—much more of her, and the sooner the better. 
    She hadn’t even bothered to turn onto her side away from him, but he turned on his to face her, leaning his head on his hand and reaching out to tug the comforter over her when he noticed that her nipples were peaked and there was gooseflesh on her arms.  “You should tell me if you’re cold or hot. I’ll adjust the covers,” he chided.
    Rachel continued to stare straight up at the ceiling, as if it held the answers to the meaning of life.
    Cage found himself entirely unable to stop from tipping her face towards his for a soft kiss.
    Her mind screamed, “No!” angrily, but her body had begun to hunger for him again as soon as the last round had ended last night, she was thoroughly ashamed to realize, and the fact that he was being gentle with her almost made it worse.
    No, it definitely made it worse.
    If he had hurt her in that horrible way—like her supposed husband had—she could have hated him through and through.  But he had been even crueler than that disgusting old man—he’d forced her to pleasure, even as he took her virginity.  At least she had known exactly what to expect from Mr. H., and therefore exactly where the blame had lain for all of it—squarely on his frail, pale shoulders.
    But Cage had done something no other man in her life had ever even attempted to do to her, and he had succeeded at it in spades:  he’d turned her own body against her, creating an ally within her own realm that was damned near impossible to fight.  Even now, when she surmised that he wanted more of the same, her body was quite eager to give it to him—even though there was definitely some residual soreness between her legs, where he undoubtedly expected to access again, to say nothing of the way the swollen skin of her poor beleaguered behind felt, and was undoubtedly going to feel as he pressed her into the bed again.
    That wasn’t, however, the first thing he did. Instead, he reached up and massaged her arms, which had gotten a bit achy and tired last night while sleeping.  Then he dragged his fingertips down over the sensitive, vulnerable insides of each arm, raising gooseflesh again but for a very different reason.  His fingertips delved into her hair and massaged her scalp, then down over her face, exploring her slowly and thoroughly, even stopping to kiss the tears as they began to drip out of the corners of her eyes.
    He kissed her as she would have imagined a lover to, with passion and hunger, making certain to coax her tongue out to play with his. He licked her lips, sipping at them, then nibbled down