“And the air’s too heavy,” Kara added.
“And the breeze is too breezy,” Brand put in on a boy mini-giggle.
“How about the Creeds don’t bellyache or even pretend to be wusses but suck it up like true Creeds?” Creed suggested, turning away from the fridge.
Kara grinned at her brother, handed him a spoon and all got quiet as Creed arrived with the ice cream, opened it up, scooped it out and piled it on.
I watched him do this with avid fascination.
Holy shit.
Seriously.
I was full of noodles and I still was considering taking all three of them out so I could have that shit all to myself.
Five minutes later, I would lament I didn’t make this move. This was because, with what was clearly abundant practice, the three Creeds fell on that pizzookie like chocolate chip cookie dough was being outlawed the next day. It was every man and his spoon for himself. With difficulty, spoons clinking against spoons, I got a load on mine and got it in my mouth but before I got it back to the pan, swear to God, more than half the pizzookie was gone.
Apparently, Creed gently drilling manners into his children did not include allowing the guest to have a head start on the pizzookie or even a clear go (or two).
As I was trying quickly to form a strategy to get my spoon in there, I heard Creed order with mouth full, “Don’t be shy, baby.”
I made the mistake of looking at him to see him grinning, mouth still full, then he swallowed and honed back in on the pan. By the time my eyes got back there, I estimated there were approximately five bites left.
“Can’t be shy when pizzookie is on the line,” Brand murmured his advice then shoved pizzookie in his mouth, Kara and Creed’s spoons scooped out more and I went in, got a load and hoisted it to my mouth.
By the time I went back, mouth barely having taken its first chew, it was all gone.
I’d had two bites and the entire ten inch cake pan was full when we started.
I looked around the island at the chewing, grinning Creeds, the young male version having melted chocolate and cookie crumbs on his lips.
Okay, right.
I might only have had two bites but next time, I’d do better. Definitely.
And I liked this pizzookie crazy family.
Seriously.
* * * * *
“What’d I say?”
This was Creed, on his back in his bed, me straddling him, his hands on my bare ass, his c**k still inside me and we’d just spent several minutes, hands groping, faces nuzzling, post-orgasm.
I stopped licking his neck and lifted my head to look down at him.
After pizzookie and some Diamondbacks baseball, I’d left under enthusiastic, heartwarmingly authentic, “See you later, Sylvies,” from Kara and Brand. Then, three hours later, I came back to have sex and sleep with Creed.
Now he was asking me a question and I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What?” I asked.
His hands slid from my ass, up my back, out over my ribs then up, up, up to frame my face. “The kids. They like you.”
“Not enough to give me a clear go at the pizzookie.”
Creed grinned.