Page 196 of Seeds of Malice

Bobby: So what? I do. You enjoyed it. End of story.

Me: You asshole!

I turn my phone off and toss it across the room. It slides across the wood floor.

Ivy stirs. "Dax?"

"Shh. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep." I snuggle under the covers with her and hold her as close as possible.

"Your heart's racing," she murmurs into my chest.

I kiss her head. "It always does when I'm near you."

She looks up and gives me a soft smile.

"Go to sleep," I tell her again.

She closes her eyes, and I close mine as well, trying to breathe through my rage.

Bobby's father owns a pharmaceutical company. They created a drug that the meat industry buys. It's liquid, meant to be added to water. They use it to drug animals so they have sex more frequently and produce more offspring. It's cheaper than artificial insemination.

The first time Bobby showed it to me and told me what it was, I made it clear he was not to use it. I told him I wanted no part of it. He's bragged a few times about using it with his girlfriends, but I told him to stop that shit.

He claims they agree to take it, but I don't fully believe him. And anytime he brags about his drugged-up conquests, I reiterate I'm totally against it.

And I've done my research on it. The drug makes people do things they would never normally do. It gives them a high more intense than normal when they orgasm. If used too much, an addiction forms, and they just want more, turning them into a nymphomaniac. Alcohol only speeds up the process.

Everything about the drug makes me cringe. It's not my style. I want my sluts to make their own decisions. Alcohol is fine to a point, but even that I have a limit on.

Bobby knows I disapprove of it and would never have agreed. I even warned him not to use it on Ivy, which I do every time we play with a new coed.

He assured me he didn't have it on him. And I don't have many boundaries, but this is one of them, and he knows it.

How dare he use it on Ivy.

I'm going to fucking kill him.

No wonder she did that with Lilly and him.

No wonder why she's so worried.

She's going to hate herself.

Bile crawls up my throat. I do my best to swallow it, but I can't.

I pry Ivy off me, run to the bathroom, and throw up.

"Dax," she frets, entering the bathroom after several minutes.

"Get out of here. I'm sick. You don't need to see this," I insist.

"No, let me help you," she says, grabbing a towel and running it under the water.

I hurl again.

How could he have done this?

Why did I trust him?

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