Rebeca Ortiz

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My eyes widen in realization. “Oh my goddess, Slade! You’re trying to make me late so I can’t wash?”  Instead of denying it, the perverse bastard has the nerve to smirk. “I told you fae are a bit wild. I like having my scent all over you. I want to keep it there.” 
Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)
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