Categories > TV > NCIS > All I Wanna Do . . .
He smiled. "Thanks for the offer," he said as she unlocked the passenger door. Tony slid in, closing the door as soon as he was completely in the shotgun seat. Rainwater fell in tiny rivulets from his darkened hair, but Ziva didn't mind, oddly enough.
"You mind turning on the heat, Ziva?"
He didn't seem to be aware that his comment was double-edged—at least to her—but she turned on the car's heater anyway to dry him off. Her partner reclined in the seat, hands behind his head. His eyes closed and a satisfied moan escaped from his lips. It was a throaty sound, almost a purr.
Ziva forced her thoughts away from her partner. Her thinking was starting to traverse into forbidden territory. That song she'd heard was messing with her mind, the chorus playing in her head: All I wanna do is make love to you/Say you will/You want me too . . . But the heat flooding the car felt wonderful, and his scent . . . To distract herself, she asked, "Were you just going to head home, Tony?"
"Yeah," he replied, opening his eyes so they were green slits. "Did you have someplace else in mind?" Her partner grinned impishly, but it faded a second later. "That was inappropriate, considering you already have a boyfriend."
Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they turned white. She shot him an angry look. "Funny, I seem to remember you teasing me when you were with Jeanne."
Hurt flashed in his eyes and automatically she reached out, resting a hand on his thigh. Her intent was to comfort him, but instead she found that she wanted to be with him in bed tonight, not Michael. NO! That can't be . . . Yet the desire pulling at her was too strong to resist. She had to give in, much as she hated to admit it.
A blinking neon sign for a motel caught her eye. Glancing quickly at Tony, the Mossad liaison saw that his eyes had closed once again, lulled by the warmth inside her red Mini Cooper. Should she stop here or keep going on to his place? The surge of desire almost tempted her to stop. All she wanted was to have him just this once. No one would have to know. She pulled into the lot without consciously making the decision, stopped the car, and stepped out. The sound of the car door slamming shut made Tony's green irises snap open. He glanced at her through hazy eyes, clearly wondering why they'd stopped here instead of going to his place. His car had broken down, after all.
Then she opened his door and gave him a teasing, inviting look. "You coming, Tony? Or would you rather I go home to Rivkin?" God, she couldn't believe she was doing this. That song had just fueled memories of the undercover mission, how it could have been different . . . But they'd just been faking. The storyline and chorus didn't help either: Please don't make it wrong, just stay for the night. All I wanna do is make love to you . . . Yet when a predatory look shone through the haziness in her partner's eyes, Ziva's inner woman was feeling wicked.
He stepped out of the car and followed her into the lobby, where they rented a room for the night. She tried to hide the cat-swallowed-the-canary look on her face, but she couldn't, not completely. Geez, can't you control your raging hormones for five minutes, Ziva?
The door to their motel room shut behind them, locking from the outside. Thinking fast, the Israeli hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle before sitting on the edge of the bed. Her brown-black tresses fell forward, framing her face and hiding her expression. She heard movement as Tony took off his lightweight jacked and laid it over the back of one of the chairs before sitting next to her. His touch sent shivers running through her. "Are you okay, Ziva?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. His hand started to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear but stilled when she turned and leaned into him, trailing feather-light kisses along his collarbone and neck. "Ziva, what are you doing?"
"This from the playboy?" she teased softly, hands reaching for the ends of his damp shirt. "Please, Tony." Desire filled her again for the third time that night. "Let me make love to you." She removed his T-shirt and began running her hands up his arms and across his shoulders while her mouth moved up the side of his neck. The entire time she talked she breathed warm air across skin wet from the rain outside.
His eyes closed briefly and Ziva could tell he was fighting with himself. They opened again and he ground out, "What about Michael?"
"What he doesn't know will never hurt him," she replied, her lips moving to capture his. "Tony, please, say you will."
The senior field agent's resolve diminished rapidly at the taste of her. His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly pulling up her shirt over her head. It landed on the floor beside his own. She turned and leaned against him so her back was resting on his chest. Slowly, he brought his left hand up and moved her curtain of hair to the side before tasting the curve of her neck. Her head threw back, a low, soft moan escaping from her. The sound almost drove him crazy—almost. Then the next thing he knew, they were both devoid of any clothing and he was looking up at her, her dark eyes almost black with lust.
They fell together easily, making love time after time for what remained of the night, or so it seemed. When Tony finally fell asleep at 0500, Ziva was still awake. Glancing over at him, she smiled slightly, planted a light kiss on his forehead, then rolled out of bed and threw on her clothes. All she left him was a note where he would see it.
On the drive back to her place, she realized briefly that she'd left Tony without a way to work, but brushed aside when Michael's face flashed in her mind's eye. God, if he ever found out what she'd done . . . betraying him by sleeping with her partner, who'd already told him to stay away from her . . . He'd be furious, no doubt about it. So would Gibbs, and Ziva wasn't sure how long she'd be able to keep this a secret from her boss, especially if it turned out . . . She prayed that wouldn't happen, but she'd have at least four weeks to find out.
When she reached home, Ziva changed into her running clothes and went for her daily run. Afterwards she stretched, showered, dresses, and ate breakfast before heading to work. It was only 0620.
...
Meanwhile, Tony reached over, searching for Ziva's warm body in the space next to him, and found only the cool mattress and sheets where she'd lain. Puzzled, his eyes opened, his brain taking a few seconds to process what he was seeing. Which was an empty space where Ziva had been. Her clothes were gone, and there was a note on her pillow. Of course, he picked it up, lurching into a sitting position to read it.
Tony,
Thanks for last night. Please don't say anything to the rest of the team, even Gibbs. And Tony, don't try to find me—please don't you dare.
Ziva
" 'Just live in my memory, you'll always be there,' " he quoted the line of an old song. Then another thought hit him. Gibbs is going to kill us.
"You mind turning on the heat, Ziva?"
He didn't seem to be aware that his comment was double-edged—at least to her—but she turned on the car's heater anyway to dry him off. Her partner reclined in the seat, hands behind his head. His eyes closed and a satisfied moan escaped from his lips. It was a throaty sound, almost a purr.
Ziva forced her thoughts away from her partner. Her thinking was starting to traverse into forbidden territory. That song she'd heard was messing with her mind, the chorus playing in her head: All I wanna do is make love to you/Say you will/You want me too . . . But the heat flooding the car felt wonderful, and his scent . . . To distract herself, she asked, "Were you just going to head home, Tony?"
"Yeah," he replied, opening his eyes so they were green slits. "Did you have someplace else in mind?" Her partner grinned impishly, but it faded a second later. "That was inappropriate, considering you already have a boyfriend."
Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they turned white. She shot him an angry look. "Funny, I seem to remember you teasing me when you were with Jeanne."
Hurt flashed in his eyes and automatically she reached out, resting a hand on his thigh. Her intent was to comfort him, but instead she found that she wanted to be with him in bed tonight, not Michael. NO! That can't be . . . Yet the desire pulling at her was too strong to resist. She had to give in, much as she hated to admit it.
A blinking neon sign for a motel caught her eye. Glancing quickly at Tony, the Mossad liaison saw that his eyes had closed once again, lulled by the warmth inside her red Mini Cooper. Should she stop here or keep going on to his place? The surge of desire almost tempted her to stop. All she wanted was to have him just this once. No one would have to know. She pulled into the lot without consciously making the decision, stopped the car, and stepped out. The sound of the car door slamming shut made Tony's green irises snap open. He glanced at her through hazy eyes, clearly wondering why they'd stopped here instead of going to his place. His car had broken down, after all.
Then she opened his door and gave him a teasing, inviting look. "You coming, Tony? Or would you rather I go home to Rivkin?" God, she couldn't believe she was doing this. That song had just fueled memories of the undercover mission, how it could have been different . . . But they'd just been faking. The storyline and chorus didn't help either: Please don't make it wrong, just stay for the night. All I wanna do is make love to you . . . Yet when a predatory look shone through the haziness in her partner's eyes, Ziva's inner woman was feeling wicked.
He stepped out of the car and followed her into the lobby, where they rented a room for the night. She tried to hide the cat-swallowed-the-canary look on her face, but she couldn't, not completely. Geez, can't you control your raging hormones for five minutes, Ziva?
The door to their motel room shut behind them, locking from the outside. Thinking fast, the Israeli hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle before sitting on the edge of the bed. Her brown-black tresses fell forward, framing her face and hiding her expression. She heard movement as Tony took off his lightweight jacked and laid it over the back of one of the chairs before sitting next to her. His touch sent shivers running through her. "Are you okay, Ziva?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. His hand started to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear but stilled when she turned and leaned into him, trailing feather-light kisses along his collarbone and neck. "Ziva, what are you doing?"
"This from the playboy?" she teased softly, hands reaching for the ends of his damp shirt. "Please, Tony." Desire filled her again for the third time that night. "Let me make love to you." She removed his T-shirt and began running her hands up his arms and across his shoulders while her mouth moved up the side of his neck. The entire time she talked she breathed warm air across skin wet from the rain outside.
His eyes closed briefly and Ziva could tell he was fighting with himself. They opened again and he ground out, "What about Michael?"
"What he doesn't know will never hurt him," she replied, her lips moving to capture his. "Tony, please, say you will."
The senior field agent's resolve diminished rapidly at the taste of her. His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly pulling up her shirt over her head. It landed on the floor beside his own. She turned and leaned against him so her back was resting on his chest. Slowly, he brought his left hand up and moved her curtain of hair to the side before tasting the curve of her neck. Her head threw back, a low, soft moan escaping from her. The sound almost drove him crazy—almost. Then the next thing he knew, they were both devoid of any clothing and he was looking up at her, her dark eyes almost black with lust.
They fell together easily, making love time after time for what remained of the night, or so it seemed. When Tony finally fell asleep at 0500, Ziva was still awake. Glancing over at him, she smiled slightly, planted a light kiss on his forehead, then rolled out of bed and threw on her clothes. All she left him was a note where he would see it.
On the drive back to her place, she realized briefly that she'd left Tony without a way to work, but brushed aside when Michael's face flashed in her mind's eye. God, if he ever found out what she'd done . . . betraying him by sleeping with her partner, who'd already told him to stay away from her . . . He'd be furious, no doubt about it. So would Gibbs, and Ziva wasn't sure how long she'd be able to keep this a secret from her boss, especially if it turned out . . . She prayed that wouldn't happen, but she'd have at least four weeks to find out.
When she reached home, Ziva changed into her running clothes and went for her daily run. Afterwards she stretched, showered, dresses, and ate breakfast before heading to work. It was only 0620.
...
Meanwhile, Tony reached over, searching for Ziva's warm body in the space next to him, and found only the cool mattress and sheets where she'd lain. Puzzled, his eyes opened, his brain taking a few seconds to process what he was seeing. Which was an empty space where Ziva had been. Her clothes were gone, and there was a note on her pillow. Of course, he picked it up, lurching into a sitting position to read it.
Tony,
Thanks for last night. Please don't say anything to the rest of the team, even Gibbs. And Tony, don't try to find me—please don't you dare.
Ziva
" 'Just live in my memory, you'll always be there,' " he quoted the line of an old song. Then another thought hit him. Gibbs is going to kill us.
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