The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(98)

Ethan tilted his head. “What kind of ideas?”

He had a feeling he should sit down, but Naomi grabbed his hand and led him toward where Morey and Leah stood waving glasses of what he was sure was the bar’s most expensive champagne.

Naomi shot him a wink, and he went up in smoke.

“You’ll see.”





Chapter Thirty-Seven




NINE MONTHS LATER . . .

NAOMI GRANT HATED weddings. She had long believed things worked out better for everyone involved if she simply sent a big fat check along with well-wishes in her stead. But this was Clara and Josh’s wedding, she reasoned as Ethan pulled up in front of their Sonoma Airbnb. These were her best friends, and over the years they’d supported her through a lot worse than exchanging vows.

The little house off the vineyard was surprisingly lovely—even when taking the hefty price tag into consideration—with a balcony off the bedroom. She rested her elbows atop the wrought-iron railing and let the wind blow her hair off her face. The setting sun bathed the groves in embers of orange.

After a while, she wandered back inside, leaving the door open, inviting in the heady scent of grapes a breath from ripeness. A bit more investigating around the space revealed a claw-foot tub big enough for two.

Downstairs in the living room, she found Ethan puttering around, working to build a fire in the stone fireplace—more for ambiance, she assumed, than warmth. She poured them both big glasses of Cabernet—a thoughtful gift from their hosts—and reclined on the sofa to work on her maid of honor speech.

Okay, so she was mostly admiring Ethan while thinking vaguely about writing her speech—but to be fair, that was not an unusual part of her process.

She let the dry black cherry and cedar flavor flow across her tongue, watching Ethan’s forearms flex as he worked. As he bent over to stack some logs, she crossed her legs and took another deep sip, admiring the way his jeans cupped his ass. It had been a while since she’d gotten in some quality, uninterrupted ogling time.

They were both usually so busy. Him managing the steady influx of congregants and renovation at Beth Elohim, and her with packaging their seminar series for a national tour while keeping Shameless growing. Luckily, they didn’t have to be at the rehearsal dinner for a few hours.

Ethan started crawling backward on his knees to retrieve a new log from the pile beside the grate.

With an ass like that, he could have been a terrible person and she still would have fallen for him. It was really lucky that he was such a sweetheart so she could go to sleep at night, well-laid and guilt-free.

But all of Ethan’s goodness aside, Naomi was not buying for a second the doe-eyed innocent look he was putting on right now. He knew exactly how horny he made her.

In all fairness, he probably didn’t know that she’d spent most of the six-hour car ride from L.A. thinking about his tongue. But honestly, they’d been together long enough at this point that he probably should have been able to guess.

She had a very active imagination. He leaned forward again to place some kindling, and Naomi indulged in a little moan.

“Everything okay over there?” Ethan got to his feet, his beard masking half a frown.

“Did you know,” she said, putting her wineglass down on the coffee table and padding across the hardwood floor to join him in front of the fireplace, “that you are supremely fuckable?”

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 soft oof.

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.