CLAIM THE CORE
“Drink up, little brother. It’s a special night.”
Luke, all twenty years of him, had taken a sip. The cider tasted unusually cloying, a metallic undercurrent beneath the sweetness. His delicate frame, all soft curves and slender limbs, began to feel heavy. His tiny waist, the gentle swell of his hips, the undeniable curve of his ass beneath his tailored trousers—every inch of him felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed. His big, doe eyes, usually wide with a shy innocence, now blinked slowly, the opulent room beginning to swim. A strange heat bloomed low in his belly, unfurling like a slow-motion flower. His lips, naturally pink and full, parted slightly as he tried to articulate the sudden dizzin