The fruit has been sitting in a bowl mixed with sugar and lemon juice for an hour. He pours it in the pan, she weaves the lattice crust. Once it’s in the oven, he finds he’s pressed against the warm door, her lips sucking at his, her hands fumbling at his fly.
“What’s gotten into you?” he grins.
But she doesn’t say a word, just leads him to the bedroom. Once there, her aggression transforms into passionate submission. Kiss, touch, kiss, touch, until she finally speaks.