Page 87 of Seeds of Malice

Dax's face hardens, his expression filling with anger.

I question, "Why would he do that?"

He stares out the window, grinding his molars for a few minutes. Then he declares, "My father hates me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I've always wanted to know what I did, but I can't figure it out."

I reach for him and hug him, stating, "That's horrible. I'm so sorry. You deserve better."

Dax pulls away. His face is stony. "It is what it is, Ivy."

"I promise you, I'm going to figure out a way to get my father to see the real you," I vow.

His sad expression reappears."Okay, Ivy. I'll put my trust in you." His intense stare lingers.

Shyness fills me. I finally question, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He admits, "I wanted today to be special for you. I wanted to give you the world and ensure you never forgot your first time.Ourfirst time."

There's going to be more times.

He's not ditching me.

He leans closer. "Did you see how sexy you are? The power you hold over me?"

No one's ever called me sexy or told me I hold power over them. It flusters me. "I...ummm..."

In a firmer voice, he asserts, "I wanted you to always remember how you looked when you first took me. And I wanted you to have the world because your father's not given that to you. He should have, but he hasn't."

My joy fizzles. "My father's given me enough."

Dax tilts his head. "Has he? You only had three boxes for your bedroom. It doesn't look like he's given you much."

My defenses rise. I insist, "I've always had everything I need. My father's been a great provider."

He holds his hands in the air. "I think this is coming out wrong. I just meant?—"

"You meant what?" I interrupt.

"Easy!"

I release an angry breath. I calm my voice. "Then what did you mean by your statement?"

Dax slides his hand on my thigh, and even though his comments upset me, tingles race to my sore pussy. I squeeze my thighs together as he reveals, "I knew he was out of work for a while."

"Lots of people have breaks in employment," I offer.

"Why didn't he work for two years? It seems like that had to have hurt you."

I glance out the window and fidget with my fingers on my lap.

"Don't be mad at me," he says, squeezing my thigh.

I turn back toward him. "You don't know what happened."

"Okay. Why don't you tell me?"

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