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“Zeke.”
“Pssst, Zeke, honey.”
“ZEKE!”
“Wha’? Wha’s happenin’?”
“Oh, good, you’re awake. I’m hungry.”
He sits up, rubbing a hand over his face before turning to look at his wife, on her knees on the mattress next to him, pouting his way.
“Okay…I think there’s leftover lasagna still downstairs?”
She frowns, shaking her head furiously. “I don’t want lasagna. I want cookie dough.”
“T, baby, it’s -” he checks his phone, squinting at the bright screen - “almost 1am. It’s too late to be makin’ cookies, but I promise I’ll make ya some tomorrow.”
“I don’t want cookies ,” she corrects him, poking his arm. “I want cookie dough . The Pillsbury one. With the shapes in the middle. The Christmas trees, not the snowman.”
“I don’ think we have any, love, but I’ll run by the store tomorrow,” he promises, flopping back onto the bed and reaching for her. “Let's go back ta sleep, ‘s late.”
“I can’t sleep,” she argues, slapping his hands away gently. “I want cookie dough.”
“T…” he groans.
“Please, Zeke!” she whines. “Your son is demanding cookie dough. We need it.”
His eyes flit down to the curve of her stomach, where their third child and second son is growing. It’s a sexy sight, even at this ungodly hour of the night.
She must read his thoughts on his face because she scoots back away from him, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh. Will you go to the store?”
“Tina, T-Bird, love of my life…it’s 30 degrees outside an’ almost 1 o’clock. Even if I find a store tha’s open, you really gonna make me go runnin’ around in tha’ cold?”
She sighs, pouting at him. “Fine, you’re right. It’s not fair of me to ask you to go get me food. I can go myself.” She shuffles her way off the bed gracelessly, grabbing her glasses off the nightstand.
He sits up again, tossing the covers off of his body. “No, no, I’ll go. You get back in bed and all comfy and warm.”
“No, it’s fine. You clearly don’t want to go, I don’t blame you. I’ll be quick, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“Tina-girl, stop,” he rounds the bed, resting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s late, an’ cold, an’ the news said it might snow tonight an’ you know how much ya hate drivin’ in the snow. I would love to go find some o’ yer Christmas tree cookie dough fer you, okay, baby?” He kisses her forehead, one hand rubbing her belly gently. “Fer both of you.”
“Are you sure?” She blinks up at him, her blue eyes making him weak in the knees even in the dark of the bedroom.
“Hundred percent,” he replies. “Now git back in bed.”
“Yes Sir,” she gives him a cheeky salute, rising up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”
He waits until she is tucked back under the blankets before changing into sweatpants and a jacket.
“Don’t forget, Christmas trees!” she reminds him as he opens up their bedroom door. “No snowmen. They’re so smug.”
“I got it, no snowmen.”
“Ooh and grab some cookies and cream ice cream too!” she adds. “And peanut butter ice cream. And some anchovies.”
“I…okay,” he agrees, “whatever you want.”
“Oh and plums. The baby also wants plums.”
“And plums. Okay. I’ll be back soon. Try and get some sleep.” He eases the door shut behind him, tiptoeing past Zach and Lacey’s bedrooms so he wouldn’t wake them. He dons his boots and hat at the door and then ventures out into the cold night in search of an open store that will have cookie dough, ice cream, salty fish, and fruit to appease his pregnant wife’s food cravings.
It had, in fact, begun snowing sometime between his last walk with Bubba around 9:30 and now. A light blanket of white covers everything - his truck, thankfully, isn’t buried, and he makes quick work of sweeping the snow clear once the engines on the heat’s running.
He may have complained about trading in his old truck for this newer one after Lacey was born, but he’s damn grateful for the fancy heated seats Tina had insisted he get now. Just another benefit for him of her preference for short skirts.
It takes an hour and 48 frickin’ minutes to find a store that’s open - a 24-hour Walmart outside Bog Harbor. He runs through her list in his head as he shuffles down the aisles with the other late-night zombies in the harsh fluorescents.
Cookies and Cream ice cream. Check.
Peanut Butter ice cream…harder to find, but there was a pint hiding behind some rum raisin. Check .
Anchovies, in a can. Disgusting, but check .
Plums, in surprisingly good shape. Check , plus a few extras to play around with. A plum sauce with a rack of lamb, maybe…he’ll need to call Bob when he thinks of it, get his thoughts.
Christmas tree cookie dough….not check. The refrigerated display has four shelves of holiday-themed Pillsbury sugar cookie dough, but there ain’t a single damned Christmas tree in sight on them.
Well, fuck.
Were this his first rodeo with Tina’s pregnancy cravings, he’d grab whatever was on the shelf and call it a night. But this is kid number three and he knows better. They may taste the same to him but they won’t to her, and she will cry if he brings home the wrong cookies.
He’d like to avoid that, preferably.
Twenty minutes of digging through reindeer, elves, santa hats, and the dreaded snowmen and he finally finds one lone package with Christmas trees, way in the back. His hands are freezing but it’s worth it, knowing how happy his girl’s gonna be when he gets home with the hard-earned prize.
There’s only one register open, so he gets in line behind a guy who smells like weed and cheap tequila. The cashier gives him weird looks the whole time she rings him up - he doubts this is the weirdest purchase she’s seen in the middle of the night, but fine, whatever - and he’s back out in the cold, more than ready to make the drive home and curl up in his warm bed with his gorgeous wife.
The lights are on downstairs when he pulls up and parks - Tina must’ve left the bed while he was gone. Probably decided leftover lasagna sounded good after all.
Except it doesn’t smell like Italian, he discovers when he comes inside, closing the door and locking the frigid air outside where it belongs.
No, the house smells very much like burgers and fries - very specific burgers and fries.
She’s in the kitchen, looking adorably sexy in his old high school wrestling hoodie, polishing off the last of a french fry pile from the counter in front of her.
“Please don’ tell me you called yer dad at two in the mornin’ to make you a burger.”
“Technically,” she replies, “I called him at two-thirty to make me two burgers.”
“I woulda cooked fer ya, baby, ya didn’t haveta wake ‘im up.”
“They don’t taste the same,” she defends, pouting up at him. “Besides, he was happy to. Anything for his grandkids, the big softie.”
He sets the grocery bags on the counter, unloading everything in a line for her perusal. “Thought ya wanted all this stuff?”
She shrugs, gathering up her trash and tossing it in the bin beneath the sink. “Yes, but then I started thinking about Zach’s Spongebob obsession which made me think about Krabby Patties which made me think about my dad’s burgers and then I just really, desperately needed one. Well, two. And fries.”
“So you don’ wan’ any of this anymore?” he gestures at the line of items.
“I mean…I’ll want it again. Soon. Probably.”
He sighs, rounding the island to press a kiss to her head. “Yer lucky I love ya, T-Bird, or I’d be pretty annoyed right ‘bout now.”
“Blame your spawn that’s controlling my cravings,” she sasses back, handing him the ice cream to put in the freezer. “And I am very lucky you love me, I’m well aware.”
“My spawn is innocent of all crimes!” he protests, closing the cookie dough and plums in the fridge. “So no more cravings fer tha night? Can we go back to bed?”
“Mmm, actually, I do have another craving,” she confesses, hopping off the barstool and sidling up to him, wrapping her arms around his middle.
“O’ course ya do,” he sighs. “Do I gotta go back to the store?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No. It’s not that kind of craving.” Her hands slide down his back to his ass, palms squeezing his cheeks.
He grins down at her, one hand tangling in her hair to tug her head back so he can kiss her lips. “My kinda cravin’. Ya always do get extra horny in the third trimester.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not one fuckin’ bit,” he growls out, grasping her hips and lifting her into his arms. Her legs wrap around his waist, arms, gripping his shoulders. He turns to set her on the counter but she she smacks his arm.
“Not here! The kids could hear us!”
“The kids are upstairs, asleep in their beds.” She pouts and he groans, adjusting her weight in his arms while he thinks. “Okay, alright….laundry room!” He spins them away from the island and around the corner, kicking the laundry room door shut behind him.
“The laundry room?”
“Only room in this house we never christened,” he explains, setting her on top of the dryer. “Now’s a perfect time, since we gotta be quiet an’ all. Kids’ll jus’ think the dryers bein’ noisy again.”
“You’ve thought about this before,” she comments, moaning when his lips find her neck and his hand trails up her thigh.
“Maybe once or twice,” he confesses, fingers pausing at her hip when he finds skin instead of the expected fabric. “Thinkin’ I ain’t the only one who’s been plannin’ things.” He tugs up his hoodie and she raises her arms so he can strip it from her.
“Again, are you complaining?”
He drops to his knees, hands sliding up her legs to push her thighs apart. “Never complain ‘bout you, Tina-girl. Yer perfect, every inch o’ ya an’ every thought in tha’ pretty head o’ yers. Now I gotta take care o’ my cravin’ ‘fore I get ta yers, if my good girl can be patient.”
“Fine,” she sighs, drawing out the word to pretend to be put out - though she can’t hide her smile or the way her cheeks flush red as he kisses his way up her leg to the apex of her thighs.
“Still the prettiest cunt in existence,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to swipe up the length of her slit. Her taste hits his tongue and he groans, burying his face against her pussy and eating her like he’s not had a meal for the last damn decade.
Hell, he’d give up a decade of meals for one taste of his girl, no question.
Rubbing her clit with her thumb, he fucks her channel with his tongue, adding two fingers from his free hand when she’s right on the edge to send her freefalling over the precipice. She comes with a cry of his name, flooding his tongue with her juices.
He’s tempted to bring her off again with his mouth but it’s already crazy late and Tina’s heavily pregnant; she needs her rest. It’s high time to wear her out and get her pretty ass back to bed.
Standing, sucking his fingers clean, he tugs her closer to the edge of the dryer and shoves his sweatpants and boxers down to fall around his ankles. Positioning his cock at her entrance, he eases the tip inside, pausing at her quiet hiss.
“You sure this won’t hurt the baby?”
“Do we have to have this conversation every single time?” she hooks her legs around his hips, squeezing him closer and pushing his length fully into her tight channel. “It’s fine. The doctor says it’s fine, the Internet says it’s fine, my mom says it's fine…so please, baby, just fuck me. Now.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, hips thrusting at the feeling of her wet heat enveloping his dick. “Yes, ma’am.” Gripping her hips, he pulls out slowly, dragging the head of his cock along her walls to make her squirm in pleasure. “Two kids and gettin’ dicked down multiple times a day an’ this lil’ pussy’s still tighter’n a new pair o’ boots.”
She huffs out a strangled laugh as he presses back in equally slowly, her hands fisting on the top of the dryer. “Did you just call my - fuck! - vagina a shoe?”
He keeps to the slow and drawn-out pace, hands drifting up the curves of her body to her chest. “No,” he corrects, fingers tugging at her puckered nipples until they’re as flushed as her cheeks. “I called yer pretty pussy tight,” he pulls out, “an’ perfect,” thrusts in, “an’ slick,” out, “ an’ mine,” back in.
Tina arches against him, groaning at the friction. “If it’s yours,” she gasps out, one hand gripping the back of his neck, “then how about you stop teasing and fuck it properly?”
“Always so bossy when yer pregnant.” He grins but obeys, holding the edge of the dryer for stability as he pounds into her, gaze fixated on the bounce of her tits and the way her head falls back in bliss as he drives her closer to the edge, crying his name with every other breath.
Her walls clench deliciously around him - she’s so close, so he drops a hand to her clit, pinching and rubbing until she falls apart for him, inner walls spasming around his dick and sending him over the edge with her.
“If ya weren’t already pregnant, I think that woulda done it,” he huffs out, peppering her face with kisses. Once his legs have stopped shaking - manly, macho shaking - he eases free of the clutch of her sweet pussy and gently pats her clean with one of the towels from the linen shelves next to them. He cleans himself off and pulls his boxers and sweatpants back up, tossing the towel into the washing machine.
“That’s handy,” Tina comments, watching him. “Maybe we should have sex in the laundry room move often. Easy clean up.”
“That could be arranged,” he agrees. He sees her shiver and grabs her discarded hoodie, pulling it back over her head.
“Mmm, good. I’m sleepy now. Carry me to bed?”
“‘Course, baby.” He scoops her up, smiling as she nuzzles against him.
“Thank you. Love you,” she mumbles against his shirt.
“Love you too, T-Bird.”
“Zeke?”
“Yeah, T?”
“Grab the cookies and cream from the freezer?”
He sighs, kissing her head with a quiet chuckle. “Anythin’ fer you, darlin’.”
