Call me shallow, call me a perv, hell, even call me a manwhore. But the fact of the matter remains - no matter who a woman is - a ball buster in the courtroom or a flower child at an Avitt Brothers concert, I have the keys to the kingdom, and they all want it.

Until Mariah Sanchez.

She wants me.

I can feel it. I can smell it. But for nine months, sixteen days, twelve hours and forty-seven minutes she's had my "you know what" in irons. Worse, my mouth and my fingers, too. Locked up in an invisible prison of my own making. And because I'm a stupid idiot, the only person I can blame for my predicament is me.

But that's about to change...