Caged

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Only he hadn’t given her his word. He’d distracted her by complimenting her, and then, by the time she realized the error of her ways, it was too late. She was standing entirely too close to the bed.

  The hand she had freed shot out and grabbed the back of her thigh, and—as she’d feared—he’d untied the other. He rudely grabbed her other thigh, lifting her up and over him. He turned to trap her between his considerable bulk and the wall, biting back a groan as he did so. He’d placed her back where she’d thought she’d gotten free of.

  “Mr.–Mr. Cage–”

  “No, Rachel, not mister. Just Cage,” he whispered, his nose pressed to hers.

  “You are violating the letter of our agreement.”

  His grin did not bode well for her future. “I don’t believe that I agreed to anything, Rachel.” And his hands were far from idle; they were quite busy removing her clothing while his lips pressed—with surprising, annoying gentleness— the side of her neck.

  Rachel cursed herself inwardly for not getting more completely dressed when she had the opportunity. She’d put her bloomers and her dress on, but not much else. Her stockings, garter and shift were all still lying on the floor by his side of the bed, and he had made frighteningly quick work of the buttons that marched down the front of her dress, and once it was splayed open her breasts were naked to his increasingly hungry mouth.

  She tried to push him away, but even in his weakened state, she was absolutely no match for him, and what was worse was that he very quickly and easily trapped the hands that had been trying to set her free behind her back, holding them tightly in just one of his hands, tugging slightly down on them so that she had no choice but to arch her back against him.

  His lips were open and waiting for that first semi-erect nipple to practically pop itself into his mouth and when it did he simply closed it around her tender flesh. “No!” Rachel squealed, but nothing came of it, of course. She could say “no” all she wanted but she had no power to back it up.

  None at all.

  Instead she found herself in much the same position as she had been last night, where he was going to do to her whatever it was that he wanted to—a position she wasn’t all that unfamiliar with from her dealings with Hemmingway, except that this was exponentially, unbelievably worse.

  She’d been terrified of Mr. H., and dreaded even so much as being in the same room with him. And she desperately wished she could say that same thing about Cage. She wanted to hate him like she hated the first man who had touched her and hurt her. She wanted to loathe him, to become nauseous at the very thought of him being anywhere near her.

  But she wasn’t. Whatever magic he’d done to her last night had completely enslaved her body to him. His mouth on her breasts—something she had previously come to fear and loathe—had her squeezing her thighs together, not in fright, not because she wanted to deny him access, but because she ached for him—literally ached for what she now knew he could do for her and to her.

  In the past less than twenty four hours with him, she had lost control of her body to a man she knew she couldn’t trust, who didn’t hesitate to impose his lustful will on her, who had punished her viciously, and—worse than all of that—who could make her crave just exactly whatever it was that he wanted to do to her, as long as he touched her.

  And he was. He’d left off suckling her breasts even though she’d whimpered when he had. That had earned her a brash, crooked grin that said he knew how she was feeling, and that things were going to go according to his plans, not hers. Next, it was his fingers that began to play with those nubs that he’d left swollen and throbbing, pinching them gently to hear her gasp her pleasure against her will, tugging just slightly, just enough to make her moan with it, playing her like a master musician as he pressed her back into the bed and leaned over her, letting her wrists go but recapturing them immediately to anchor them more permanently together above her head again.

  “Oh, no–don’t–please!” Rachel was horrified that her eyes were flooding with tears that could clearly be heard in her tone.

  Still, he nearly convinced her that he was sorry to have to do it, as if someone else was making him, and then an unrepentant grin spread across his face. “I don’t want you interfering with what I intend to do to you.” His tone was dark magic, threatening and promising at the same time, and she was thoroughly humiliated to realize that the wetness he had used against her last night—wetness her body created on its own entirely without her permission—was beginning to leak onto the bed beneath her, even more so now that he had completely removed her choice in the situation.

  As he made his way down from her arms, her legs already forced simply by his weight and presence on top of her to spread beneath him, her delicate tissues were rasped by the roughness of his pants that were pressed even closer against her by that strange bulge that he always seemed to be sporting. His hands claimed her breasts again as he licked his way down her neck, then down the center of her body, between breasts that he then brought together, thumbs and forefingers still pinching and squeezing her flesh, raising tight, taut nipples up only to be rolled and milked almost to the point of pain but carefully kept just shy of it.

  He didn’t stop following the same path down the middle of her body that his fingers had the night before, not even when his mouth hovered just above that spot he had so skillfully manipulated that had sent her to a Heaven she had never known existed—never wanted to know existed—and beyond.

  He–he wasn’t going to actually kiss her there, was he? She couldn’t even comprehend of the idea until he was actually doing it to her, and by then it was too late. Not that he was going to heed any of her protests anyway—he never would.

  “Oh–my–Cage–uhn–what–don’t–please!”

  She couldn’t even remove herself from beneath him; not only were her hands useless, but his strong arms had wrapped themselves around her thighs, which he had placed with devastatingly casual ease over his shoulders, further spreading her open for his delectation and rendering any attempt she made to try to move completely moot.

  And within the next few minutes, she completely forgot to be outraged or even protest what he was doing to her in any way. She only knew that—to her deepest mortification—she never wanted him to stop. Rachel had been amazed at what his fingers had done to her—his mouth, she was quite sure—was going to kill her.

  At first he had been gentle and almost delicate with her, as if he’d known she would be horrified at the very idea of what was happening to her. He began by giving her a long while of him teasing and tasting her, waiting for her to become more used to the idea before he lengthened each long flat-tongued lick. He left his tongue there, surrounding her with that warm wet flesh as he moved it over her in a slow swirling motion that hit every single bit of her at once, unrelentingly, as she arched and moaned and tried to buck against him, not trying to escape really—at least not for the same reasons as she had been, anyway—but just trying to find some easement of all of that direct stimulation he was lavishing on her.

  But he wasn’t about to let her get away from him, or lessen how he was tending to her. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her even further down, stretching her arms very close to the point of discomfort until there was nowhere for her to go but further into his mouth. He licked and sucked and nibbled and flicked, spurred on by the mewling and whimpering he knew she thought she was suppressing, but the sounds escaped anyway, and when he very gently began to introduce his finger into her, she tensed beneath him. When it didn’t hurt and he curled that finger carefully within her, he was rewarded by her first real moan since last night.

  It almost had him soiling the coverlet himself in much the same way he knew she was creating a damp spot beneath her. With his index finger buried deep inside her, delicately probing and pressing, he continued suckling at a clit that had jumped considerably in size, throbbing and pulsating beneath his tongue.

  “Cage! Cage!” she breathed, sounding a b
it scared, which was the last thing he wanted for her.

  “Shh, shh, shh, Rachel,” he murmured against her, realizing he was inordinately happy that he knew her first name. “It’s just like last night—only maybe a bit more intense. The same thing is going to happen, I promise. Just let it happen and enjoy it.”

  He returned to his amazing task and seconds later she was very, very close, moaning constantly. He stopped being quite so gentle with his finger and began withdrawing more and fucking her harder with it, and that was all it took. She exploded beneath his mouth, her body heaving and bucking, grunts and groans and squeals coming from that beautiful mouth of hers as he forced her to ride that crest and find her way to another, then another until she collapsed beneath him, begging him not to do any more.

  Cage relented just a bit, although he hated to leave her. He reduced his play to simply kissing her lips for long moments as he felt her body trying to slowly come down, but instead of allowing her to come down completely, he leaned forward and very, very carefully took her still fluttering clit back between his lips, mouthing her softly.

  Rachel wanted to push him away from her, but she couldn’t. She had to endure whatever it was that he decided to do to her, and including this terribly embarrassing, thoroughly horrifying thing that wrestled control of her entire body away from her in an even more demeaning manner than he’d done with her wrists. He forced such intimate pleasure on her as to have her betray even her mind. He reduced her to her lowest common denominator, a writhing, panting greedy beast that never wanted to lose contact with his avid mouth.

  And yet, eventually, she did. He left her slowly, reluctantly, but his own body was demanding a release that rivaled hers. Cage reached down and unbuttoned his pants, wishing he were naked, too, but realizing that he had to maintain as much of an upper hand with her as possible.

  He had never felt such relief when he finally allowed his fully erect self out of its terrible confinement, and it sprung forth practically into her as soon as it was released, its thick, veiny length seeking to be buried fully within her.

  He did his best to remember that this was going to be new to her, and that it might well hurt, although he’d certainly do what he could to try to lessen that as much as possible. It had been a very long time since he’d had a virgin, and his size, as much of a blessing as most women thought of it as in this case might not be as much of one.

  She was drenching wet, though, so that would help. As soon as he presented the head of his penis to her tight notch, it was instantly bathed in her sweet syrup. He didn’t make any other adjustments, except to lean forward over her, gathering her thighs at his elbows, which rocked her back open even further to him.

  “Rachel, I need to be inside you now, so that I can get to feel the same way you just did.”

  He could see that she was trying to focus her eyes on him, but they were still blurry and he knew she had no idea what he was really talking about, despite her supposed marriage. And he couldn’t see that explaining to her what he was going to do was going to help that situation much, so he simply did it.

  “What I’m going to do might hurt just a bit, but only once, and I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t.”

  But, although she’d accept his finger with relative ease, his size was playing hell with her as he tried to enter her, no matter how gentle he tried to be, his slow thrusts were met with her trying to cringe away from him and frightened cries that tugged at what was left of his conscience. She was, understandably, doing her best to actively fight him, which he deliberately hadn’t left her any room to do. Her obvious anguish came very close to convincing him to back off, but his genitals demanded that he push forward, which he did, figuring that all at once, getting it over with, as far as she was concerned, might be the best thing after all.

  Chapter Five

  Rachel didn’t think that she could agree with that, considering the searing, tearing she felt as he invaded her with something that was long and thick and terribly painful to accommodate within her. Even moving to do what she could to defend herself hurt, so she lay there, trying unsuccessfully not to sob pitifully, rivers of tears sliding out of the corners of her eyes and into her hair.

  And Cage knew that what he was going to do next wasn’t going to feel very good to her, either, but the dictates of his body were overwhelming in the extreme and he had to move or he thought he’d die right there atop her. She felt so amazingly good that he was quite surprised that he’d been able to hold back this long.

  He was dealing with his own pain, too. His side wasn’t at all happy with all of this movement, but what his cock wanted at the moment overrode literally everything else in his mind as he pulled out of her as slowly as he could, which wasn’t very, then pressed himself back into her as she softly chanted under her breath—he didn’t even think she was aware of her repeated pleas for him to stop. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, although he could see that tears had no problems leaking out of them.

  Suddenly, he sat back, still surging into her rhythmically, but at this angle, he could reach her still nicely slickened clit.

  When his thumb began to polish her little jewel, it was like a bolt of electricity went through her, and Rachel’s soft chant segued into a loud, groaning plea.

  “No! P–please–no–don’t–” she gasped.

  But he would not stop. Cage could feel her tightening around him against her will, and knew she was beginning to enjoy what he was doing to her, although he also knew she wasn’t at all happy about it. But his thumb never left that terribly sensitive tidbit as he began to move more powerfully within her at the same time, seeking his own ecstasy.

  He did, however, make sure that she reached her climax before he found his own, thoroughly enjoying the way her body clutched and clenched at his, how those delicious breasts of hers bobbed as he pressed into her and she couldn’t ignore the dictates of her own body to move with the ecstasy he was bringing her. His last stroke was his hardest and he coated her chamber with his seed on a long, low growl.

  Why she began to cry harder now that it seemed to be over, she would never know, but once he was through forcing her to a peak she would have sworn at first that she could never have attained, she somehow completely lost the ability to control her sobbing, and, as they sank further and further into the bed due to his weight, she was finding it harder and harder to breathe.

  Her emotions totally frazzled and suddenly completely unable to deal with the idea that she might die of suffocation beneath the beastly bastard, Rachel fairly screamed at him, “Get off me you great oaf!”

  For his part, Cage was barely alive. It had been a very long time between women, and he was pretty much an overcooked noodle, and yet she was screaming at him as if he was actively killing her.

  “Get off me. I can’t breathe!”

  It took another long moment before what she was saying sank in to his fried brain, but eventually he rolled off her and she began to cough and choke.

  “Damn, you were serious,” he said, and he guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the differences in their sizes.

  “If you want to kill me, please feel free to use the gun next time,” she snapped sharply. “It’ll be quicker and more merciful, not that that’s likely to be a consideration for you, regardless.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  Rachel met his eyes and said blankly, “Yeah, that means a lot.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable, Rachel?”

  Although it didn’t have the sarcastic bite that her previous comments had, she still managed to get in, “You could release my wrists. That would go a long way towards making me more comfortable.”

  Cage sighed, wishing he thought he could, but then he remembered that she had had a knife secreted in the bed somewhere that had gotten her loose while he’d slept, and he didn’t feel quite as bad. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but no. Anything else?” For some reason, he felt compelled to
get her to give him something he could do for her that would assuage the guilty feelings he was having about keeping her tied up. “Are you hungry? Do you need the pail? Thirsty? I could bring you some water?”

  She was still on her side, her back to him. “No, thank you,” she answered primly.

  “Sleep well.”

  She didn’t answer him, although he didn’t think that she was asleep already. It came to him within minutes, and she was not that far behind him.

  Cage awoke very early the next morning and felt that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what, but something. He eased himself out of bed, tucking the gun into his pants and pulling his boots on quickly. Although Rachel appeared dead to the world and he hated to wake her, he’d rather he did it than someone else.

  “Missus,” he whispered as he lightly shook Rachel awake.

  “What? Can’t you just let me sleep in peace after everything else you’ve done to me?”

  Then they both heard the multiple hoof beats in the distance and he began to scramble to untie her. “If I hear you say anything to them, if you mention me to whoever it is, I’ll kill them but not you.”

  Her eyebrows rose, but just then her wrists were free and he was shoving her dress, hose and shoes into her hands. Rachel had never dressed so quickly in her life. “What do I do if they want to come in?”

  “Stall them as long as you can.”

  As she went for the door, looking back at him for a second, he said calmly, “Take the rifle out with you. They’ll be far enough away—at first—that they won’t notice it’s broken.”

  She stood in awe of him. She’d never shown him where she’d hidden it, under the small, crude bookcase that stood in one corner, and how had he known it was broken?

  But she knew they didn’t have time for questions, so she grabbed it and headed out, hearing him whisper hoarsely from behind her, “Be careful. And I’m sorry you have to deal with this at all.”