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"It's a mitzvah," Marc says, dropping a lingering kiss on her neck. His large hands rest at her hips, holding her close.
Layla laughs. "It's the only one you're interested in."
"I've never been that good of a Jew." Marc strokes her thigh, his touch hot through her jeans. His eyes shine. "Let me be a seal upon your heart, like the seal upon your hand. For love is fierce as death…"
She kisses him again, deeper, dragging her palm against the rough stubble of his cheek. "Vast rivers cannot quench love, nor rivers drown it…"
They say little after.