“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.