Demetrio's POV
Since turning fourteen, I've never allowed myself to be trapped in a situation without an exit strategy. Never in my entire life has that been because of a woman.
Yet here I sit in my blacked-out Maserati, gripping a hard-on that refuses to quit no matter how many times I've jerked off to filthy thoughts of her in the shower this morning. Her voice. Her compact, athletic body. Those nimble hands and that pouty mouth that haunt me even when I close my eyes. Even when I try to focus on business, on the Mexicans waiting for my call, on the Bratva moving into Brighton Beach.
It doesn't help that I haven't been able to look at other women since meeting her three weeks ago. The mere thought of touching someone else to relieve this aching lust makes me recoil with disgust. My bo
