I need a day to just sit in a coffee shop in a big city to read, cry, and pray.
Girl, you are speaking to my soul.
I need this.
15. Spanking the other.
Regina shifts over him, grinding her hips down on his as she bites his lip, pulling then soothing the sting with a kiss. He grunts, hands smoothing down her sides and over her ass. She moans, soft and urgent and god his hands are perfect as he kneads over her skirt.
I ship Outlaw Queen more than I do any of the relationships in my own life.
Red apples are so sickly sweet, don’t you think?
stop making villains so attractive it makes me question my morals or what’s left of them anyway
Yooo that’s my gif! :D :D YESS LOVED making this LOLOLOL
Excellent job Ales! I tagged it as not my gif but didn’t know who it belonged to so I’m glad it was you!
LOLOL you’re welcome to use my gifs anytime.
I think I made a bigger version too (or tried). I need to look it up.
LOL this tickles me EVERY TIME I SEE IT. Why? Because it’s very clear to me that his hand being on her thigh is a natural every day thing. It was habit, and he forgot where he was. LOL.
He was so comfortable doing it, he said we fucking with the pat of a hand.
Oops…yes you are on television. Love how comfortable they are touching each other.
YES. The comfort zone is where it’s at in this gif! SOO damn cute.
I always wonder what he would have done if her legs hadn’t been crossed. Was he just going to rest his hand between her thighs? Leave it there during the interview?
I have wondered the same because he was looking for a place to LEAVE his hand. For sure.
Hopefully this isn’t just another Olitz baby fic. Enjoy!!
He drummed his fingers on his desk as he held the phone to his ear. He listened to it ring twice, three times, then her voicemail. He didn’t leave a message this time, just simply pressed End and tucked the phone back into his pocket. His thumb and forefinger squeezed the bridge of his nose, a migraine looming.
“Sir?” he heard Lauren’s voice call from the doorway, “The First Lady is here to see you.”
“Send her in” he lamented, forcing himself to sit upright. Then his wife breezed through the door, wearing her usual scowl.
“Fitzgerald, when are you leaving for New Hampshire?” he turned his eyes to the report sitting in front of him on the desk.
“Tomorrow morning” his response was flat, devoid of any feeling, “Why?”