Derek resettled against the couch, curled his hands around the boy's hips to help stabilize him as he rocked on his lap. His lips parted, and he could taste the lemonade--and the slight burn of wolfsbane that lingered. But he knew that Isaac wasn't lying--could tell that he thought he'd only drunk lemonade. Which meant someone had drugged his slave without his consent.
And that was unacceptable.
But before he got angry about it, before he let himself dwell on it, he had a lapful of horny, essentially drunk Isaac to deal with.
"Okay," he breathed, nosed the side of Isaac's face. "Okay, Isaac. I'll help you. Let me help you."