Ethan’s ears went a delicate shade of pink. She loved that she could still make him blush.
He ducked his head and laughed a little, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You know someone trying to fuck me?”
It was a real battle royale in Naomi’s brain, trying to decide if she had the patience to wait until after he actually got a blaze going before she took all his clothes off and straddled him.
On the one hand, a fire would be nice. The crackling wood would underscore those soft throaty groans he made when she wrapped her lips around his dick and ran her nails down the inside of his thighs.
On the other hand, the wine weaving through her veins was making her feel deliciously predatory. The urge to sink her teeth into his neck, to drag them across the soft skin covered by his happy trail until he whimpered, was vivid and visceral. Naomi wanted to mark every vulnerable place on his body until she left him rumpled, satisfied, and sleepy.
She nodded toward his careful arrangement of lumber. “How much longer does that take?”
He rubbed his thumb across his upper lip. One of her favorite tells. He was thinking about kissing her. “Fifteen minutes?”
Heat pumped through her body in time with her heartbeat.
“No, thank you.” Naomi carefully removed the log he was holding, tossed it somewhere in the vicinity of the others he’d arranged, and pushed him onto his back. His shoulder blades hit the carpet followed by a softoof.
She had one leg over him and both hands on the hem of her silk dress when he gripped her wrists.
“What if,” he said, voice promisingly low, “I make it worth your wait?”
She flipped her gaze between the stack of wood and his face.
“Yeah, no. I wanted that nose pressed against my pussy, like, yesterday.”
Naomi attempted to scoot forward on his chest, but his hold was firmer than she’d thought. She raised an eyebrow at him in question.
Ethan gave the sauciest grin she’d ever seen.
“If you let me finish this fire, I will let you do that bedroom thing you’ve been trying to talk me into.”
Naomi practically squealed. “Really?”
He released her wrists and shrugged. “Yeah. I trust you.”
She clapped her hands together. “If we weren’t already engaged, I’d totally ask you to marry me.”
Ethan rolled his eyes, but the color high on his cheeks gave him away.
“Hey”—she leaned forward—“you know all kinds of ancient Jewish wisdom, right?”
“Sure,” he agreed, preoccupied with running his hands back and forth from her hips to her thighs.
“Wanna help me with this speech? I keep coming up with ribald jokes that Clara’s already vetoed. She won’t even let me mention the time I walked in on them dry-humping, even though I’ve told her a million times it was the most romantic dry-humping I’ve ever seen.”
Ethan kissed her behind her ear. “I can see why she might not want that particular anecdote shared with her relatives.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” Naomi grumbled.
He let his hands ghost across her rib cage, teasing the sides of her breasts. “You already know my favorite scholarly Jewish position regarding maintaining healthy relationships,” he said, voice just a little rough. “‘Do not hurry in arousing passion. Prolong till she is ready and in a passionate mood. Approach her lovingly and passionately, so that she reaches her orgasm first.’”
Naomi grinned down at him. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
Okay, so maybe weddings weren’t so bad after all.