"I'll never get tired of that," she whimpered, her voice lightly m.u.f.fled by his flesh.

"That makes two of us," he muttered in return, still trying to catch his breath.

"I feel sticky all over," she giggled. Stephen looked over at her nude body. There was a glistening layer of sweat covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s that ran down to her belly. Looking back at himself, he noticed much the same, being covered in his own layer of fluids.

"I'd say sorry, but then again, I'm not really sorry for that," he chuckled.

Grace rolled up on her elbow, and looked into his eyes while her fingers traced a line across his stomach. "You complete me, Stephen."

A smile of unbridled joy formed quickly on his lips, and he soon leaned in to give her a long, slow kiss. She returned it just as eagerly, and in that moment, nothing else, or no one else, truly mattered.

Right when Stephen was about to zone out, and possibly fall asleep for a mid afternoon cat nap, the doorbell for the house rang. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he turned to look at Grace, "I wonder who ordered a package?"

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Grace shrugged, barely looking up, and reburied herself into his side. Content to just ignore the bell, Stephen closed his eyes once more and tried to nod off into sleep.

Yet, the bell rang again, twice in a row.

Stephen scowled, wondering who or what could be so important in the afternoon. Maybe it was a package that needed signed for, and that's why they were being so persistent. Maybe it was Mormon missionaries, here to try to save his soul. After all, they did come through about every year with their neighborhood walking campaign. He nearly laughed when he imagined asking them about their position on s.e.x genies.

The bell rang one more time, and finally Stephen hopped out of bed. Even missionaries weren't usually this pushy. He quickly searched for a pair of gym shorts to throw on, as well as one of his clean gym s.h.i.+rts.

"Let me see who it is. Just wait here, babe," he said to Grace, who still had her eyes closed, while remaining snuggled into his pillow. She let out a light whimper to let him know she heard.

His feet padded across the carpet towards the hallway, making his way into the kitchen while the bell rang again.

"Keep your d.a.m.n socks on," he muttered, as he reached the door, and pulled it open. What he saw on the other end made his jaw drop almost the floor.

Standing there, looking no older than the day he had last saw him, was his father, Jerry Willow.