Why must I be in this position to clean Eric's face? Better yet, if he's dying, why clean him up at all?
My confusion must be evident by my expressions, because Jace reiterates.
"Use your skillful tongue and clean our mess off his face."
He did not just tell me to lick his jizz off Erics fucking face!
"Use your fucking tongue, Jace. I'm not licking anything."
"The longer you take Rory, the worse I'm going to make it," he warns.
Fuck. My sex clenches at the dominance in Jace's tone.
There's something about his depravity that awakens a submissive side in me.
For reasons unknown to me, I trust Jace after formally meeting him a mere few hours versus my husband, whom I've known since I was a teenager.
He doesn't cause me physical pain. I can choose when I want to be his good girl and be praised or a brat and get punished.
Like a pet, I bow my head and run the tip of my tongue in a line up the side of Eric's face. The cum is sticky and cold now and makes me gag. I hold back, though, repeating the process, lapping all of the disgusting mess up.
At some point, Jace bends at the waist and mutters next to my head, "He's dying tonight whether it's by your hands or not. I won't force it upon you, but I saw the fire ignite in your eyes when you punched Eric earlier. I know you're ready."
He yanks me into a kneeling position and draws me in for a kiss, but I pull back.
I'll show him the fire in my eyes.
Instead of kissing him, I spit any reminisce of the mess I cleaned off Eric at him, which lands square on his face.
I expect him to spit back at me like last time, but Jace uses the arm of his sleeve to wipe it off.
He forcefully grabs me by the arm and raises me as he straightens to full height.
"You'll pay for that later, Little Slut, but we need to take care of this piece of shit first," he says.
My jaw hits the floor in utter shock when Jace cuts the ties around Eric's arms and kicks the table off the top of him.
It flies to the other side of the room, and the top glass shatters into thousands of pieces as it lands.
"Shall I call Nyx to come and take you home? Or are you staying for more fun?"
This crazy mother fucker would think killing someone is fun.
"If I leave, I'm driving myself out of here."
And I'm never coming back.
But who am I kidding? I'm not going anywhere.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued when Jace told me I would be killing Eric. In my entire life, I've never wanted to hurt someone, let alone take away their chance to breathe, but I also never thought I'd be in an abusive marriage, either.
For years Eric would laugh while he destroyed every part of me. He told me he'd kill me one day, and Jace being here proves he wasn't lying.
That bastard deserves the karma thrown at him tonight.
To show Jace I'm not going anywhere until I witness Eric's demise, I skip to the torture table and examine the array of tools- a meat cleaver being the perfect object for what I'm about to do.
As I stand straddling Eric's body, a growl escapes from Jace.
"Don't worry, big boy, I'm not going to touch him," I say, lifting the cleaver over my head and pounding it into Eric's flesh.
"You will never wreck me again," I scream as I put as much force as possible into bashing his ribs as he did mine.
Jace grabs my wrist mid-swing, takes the cleaver, and tosses it toward the broken table.
"I guess this means you're participating," he says.
