Yeilyne Rodriguez

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In that moment, I didn’t care if she marked me, if she drew blood, because she was mine and I was hers, and nothing else mattered. “My mate,” I groaned. “My wife.” “Yours,” she agreed, and I brought our lips together, kissing her deeply as we both chased our own climax.
Wickedly Yours (Witches of Pleasant Grove, #2)
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