The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,71

said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ethan tightened his jaw. “What exactly do you think that means in this context?”

“I don’t know”—she searched the living room as if looking for witnesses to back up her hypothesis—“but I figure if you can’t have sex before marriage, then we probably shouldn’t sit here and watch porn together.”

“You think I won’t have sex before marriage,” he said slowly, because his brain was sort of collapsing.

“Right.” She folded her legs beneath her. “I did some reading, and I know it’s a sort of a gray area nowadays . . . I assumed that, as a rabbi, you’d want to err on the side of caution, and so we, you know, wouldn’t.”

“Naomi, I—”

“I still wanna do this,” Naomi rushed to assure him. “Date you, I mean. I . . . like you. It’s okay with me. I get it. I respect your values even though they’re different than mine.”

“I appreciate that, but, Naomi, I think your reading might have given you a bit of a false impression. I certainly take sex, and all intimacy, seriously, but I’m not sure I know any Reform rabbis who saved themselves for marriage. Honestly, lots of the people I knew in rabbinical school hooked up with each other.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “It sounded like you just said . . .” She trailed off, voice weak.

Ethan needed to make her understand. He took a long breath in and out through his nose. “Naomi.”

“Yes?” Her eyes were wide, and at this range he could see flecks of gold among the green.

He reached for her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles. “I want you to hear me when I say this.”

“Okay,” she said, tongue dipping out to trace her bottom lip.

“If we’re going to date, I want you to know that I’m not immune to desire, and I’m very capable of acting on it.”

“I’m gonna need you to say that again, and maybe use smaller words.”

Ethan thought for a moment. “Okay. How about this? I’m a man,” he said, each syllable calm and clearly articulated, “and I’m going to fuck you.”

“Okay,” Naomi said on an exhale. “That was good.”

“Look,” he sighed, “I’m not saying it’s going to be tonight or even anytime soon. We can decide together when we’re ready, but I want you.” His voice came out a bit ragged. “Very much.”

“I see.” Naomi’s breathing was strained. “Thank you. For telling me.”

“Of course.” He brought her hand to his lips and placed a ghost of a kiss against the inside of her wrist before releasing her. “Glad we cleared that up.”

“You know, in that case”—she swallowed visibly—“there is this one video I like. It’s not a full scene, but it’s a self-pleasure tutorial we shot for Shameless a few years ago as part of a Getting to Know Your Erogenous Zones series.”

There was vulnerability written across her face, but also something hopeful, something fragile. “It shows how I like to be touched. We could watch it together. If you want?”

“Is that a joke?” Ethan was already so turned on from this conversation and her proximity.

And that was how he found himself sitting with scant inches between himself and Naomi Grant during the single most erotic experience of his entire life. Once he’d handed over his laptop, it took her all of a minute to find the video she’d referenced. Shameless must have a solid search feature, he thought stupidly.

The video she pulled up was labeled “A Tutorial on Orbiting,” a term he’d never heard applied to the female body until this moment. But before his brain could linger on possible definitions, he was greeted by the sight of a very naked Naomi Grant. Any blood previously powering his essential organs redirected between his legs.

“So that’s what my tits look like.” The fully dressed Naomi next to him gestured toward the screen, pushing her tongue against her cheek and fighting a laugh.

Ethan balled his hands into fists at his sides. She . . . there weren’t words for how perfectly crafted she was, for how hot and wild looking at her made him feel.

His brain couldn’t process the image on screen as a whole. It was too much. Too good. He took her performance in as pieces.

The artful curve of her wrist as her hand moved between her legs. The flush and sheen of her skin as she worked herself into a sweat. How she parted her lips on a tiny, gentle sigh