The pie was in the oven, the kitchen was tidy and silence prevailed. Downstairs at least.
John had been very persuasive about both of them going upstairs to have a little chat. Anna had a condition. Only after the pie was in the oven.
The chat was ruse and she soon learned that when she felt his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. His lips were soft and his tongue wet and passionate. He was a master when it came to undressing her and she was no different with him. They fell in bed a moment later, tangled in each other's body, touching, kissing and loving. Moans and cries of pleasure echoed from their room. While downstairs it was peaceful.
When Anna found herself again, she was laying on his chest, in the comfort of his embrace, taking in the smell of their exertions. As his lips kissed her damp hair and his voice whispered words of love, she smelt something different than them.
'John! The pie!'
It was burnt. Lost. Impossible to save.
'Next time we should let Mrs Patmore bake for us.' he laughed.