The woman was beautiful in that wealthy, over-the-hill and overly-Botoxed way of his mother’s circle. Lance wouldn’t normally have looked twice at her, but he was only beginning to look twice at anyone.

Nevertheless, this year when she once again rubbed up against him during her overfriendly greeting, he wasn’t perplexed, he was… aware. Aware in a way and place that was extremely embarrassing. Damn puberty, anyway.

She wasn’t embarrassed or uncomfortable, though. No, she was downright pleased as she murmured, “My, aren’t you growing up beautifully.”

He was uncomfortable yet short on ideas for gracefully extricating himself. It was his birthday but he would hear about any rudeness to guests. Even this woman who kept finding reasons to have her hands on him.

…Then his growing unease dulled. His empathy was spiking stronger and feelings were suddenly overpowering. He felt drunk or drugged, high on overwhelming new emotions. He was confused… no, excited… he wanted… she wanted…

She led him to the stairs, making noise about having never toured an upstairs level. He cast one last desperate glance over his shoulder as he followed. His mother met his eyes. She cocked a brow, turned her back.

And Lance submitted.