Ziva's trailing kisses along her hip when the phone on Jenny's bedside table rings, less than a minute after her mobile. This time, Jenny groans and starts to roll towards it, but Ziva tsk-tsks, pulling her back by the wrist.
"Your Agent Gibbs can wait, Madame Director," she whispers against Jenny's hipbone, and twines their fingers as she meets Jen's eyes, heading down to her with a look of weak reprimand, with the sparkles that accompany a smirk.
"He will only do what he pleases anyway, yes?" she grins. Jenny groans again, knowing that she's lost this round as Ziva's mouth ghosts back down her still-sweaty pelvis and wraps longingly around her clit.
"You remember, Officer David, when I told you that you could be just as insufferable as your father?"
Her wet slit's graced with the hot, taunting exhale of Ziva's "yes, ma'am."
"I was wrong. You're even worse."
Ziva, smirking, pushes a finger into her; Jenny gulps down a breath, her posture reflexively softening and giving Ziva better access to her.
"Crisp on the old block, yes?"
"...chip off the old block, Ziva."
Ziva huffs in disappointment.
"Oh, don't worry. You'll adjust to our idioms eventually."