As Peter cupped his hands around Jean’s firm breasts, slowly stroking her firm nipples with his palms, a pine crate burst through the bedroom ceiling, landing with an earth-shattering crash in the middle of Jean’s bed, causing it to sag and creak under the sudden weight — mere inches from where the couple stood in shock, trembling, clutching each other.
“Where the Hell was that?” He broke free from her clutches and stared at the gigantic hole in the ceiling, then at the box on the bed, frustrated and frightened all at once.
Jean scooped up her white cashmere dress off the damp heap of clothes the floor and slipped it on. “I have no idea, but it must have fallen through the attic, my father’s got tons of old junk up there. I don’t ever remember seeing it before. It must have gotten buried in the clutter and eventually, it collapsed under its own weight.” She cringed, unnerved by sheer spectacle.
“Now that’s what I call a grand entrance!” He whistled through his teeth.
Jean winced. “A regular tour de force! It definitely got our attention.”
The crate resembled a simple pine coffin, albeit immense — smooth and pale with, foreboding, random knots scattered throughout that resembled brown, wide, accusing eyes. She sat down on the edge of the ruined bed, which creaked under more unwelcome strain and struggled to regain her…
