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She had to admit—he looked pretty adorable when he got this excited. She knew her being there was a direct consequence of them having spent the night together, but sometimes giving herself away just to do something he liked had its rewards.
“I’m heading out to Mondiale,” he said over the kitchen island while Ziva focused on her cappuccino. And perhaps it had been the way she had sounded not even minutes earlier—with his head between her thighs, her fingers woven through his short hair—or perhaps it was the slight carefulness in his posture, the way he tried not to make a big deal out of it, but when Tony glanced at her and asked, “Would you like to tag along?” she realized there was no way she could say no.
“I know you have to visit the school,” he said. Tali had already left. And with so many renovations happening at once, constructors, engineers, and other workers moving through the building all day, Ziva had been there nearly every morning. “But it would be quick. Just to show you around. I have a video call with an important client at nine anyway.”
And she caught the deep breath he took after finally looking at her, adjusting his tie and holding onto casualness as if to smooth over the fact that this mattered to him.
And her heart tugged at the sight.
This was a man who almost never asked for anything.
“To put a picture to the name would be nice,” Ziva said over the rim of her mug.
And when he caught her eye, so visibly relieved by her answer and suddenly so happy, she smiled back at him too.
“I would love to see the place that made you boss, Tony.”
Ziva had missed the giddiness she felt seeing him like this—big smiles directed at everyone, his steps almost bouncy as he walked, the steady hand on her lower back as he introduced her to his team and associates. He knew the names of everyone in the building, from the porter to the cleaning ladies, to project managers and the tech support staff, and she wondered when exactly that had happened. Whether they were the same people who had welcomed him in France, or if the faces around him had slowly become new ones. If this version of Mondiale barely resembled the one he started with.
She knew Claudette, who was carrying the clipboard she always seemed to have in hand while reminding him of his schedule throughout the day, and Ziva was pleased to see her opinion of her hadn’t changed. This was a direct, organized woman—exactly what he needed as an assistant. And at reception, Claudette smiled at her politely, but Ziva caught the pleased glint in her eye as she glanced between her and Tony. She must have been waiting for this to happen.
Ziva found herself amused by what exactly Tony had apparently mentioned about her to his team—how he had explained her years of absence, or who she was in his life. And despite her slight worry about meeting so many new people, the visit wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as she had expected it to be.
Salus Mondiale was a big space, with glass walls and computer screens spread everywhere.
When Tony had first told her about his plans to enter the security field, it had been over a rushed phone call while she was still on the run, through a burnt phone she later threw away in an airport bar. She remembered lowering her voice immediately and telling him it was not safe for him to share any of that. But Tony had pressed on anyway, irony bleeding through the bad connection as he said, “Turns out obsessively searching for one woman across multiple continents translates surprisingly well into private security.” And she supposed it was an area he had become an expert in without even realizing it.
It was different from investigative work, of course—focused far more on preventing problems than solving them—but it suited him. This technology-based organization. The constant movement. Talking to clients while still remaining close enough to operations and executive protection that he was not trapped behind a desk all day. It fit him better than she would have expected.
And he seemed obviously excited about his role there.
His office was wide and elegant, the kind of space that looked busy without ever feeling messy. Tony had always had good taste in interior design. Ornate glasses and small statues decorated the shelves, alongside framed pictures of Tali and even one of all of them together at the park. Wide double-screen computers sat across his desk, surrounded by neatly stacked files and papers in various stages of use.
There was an open file he immediately closed when they entered, apologizing for the mess, and a few crumpled paper balls scattered near the trash can that she recognized as the result of him getting bored and playing mini fake basketball.
As apologetic as he looked, insisting he had wanted the office to be neater for her visit, Ziva was impressed.
On the opposite wall, six television screens displayed different parts of the building, while another three smaller ones to the side showed places nowhere near where they were. She recognized London, Barcelona, and… was that Egypt? Ziva had not even known he had clients internationally, but perhaps she had been wrong about the scale of this company. Or perhaps Tony simply downplayed himself too much. Hidden beneath his boyish persona and occasional lack of self-awareness. Or maybe he was aware, and simply did not see any of this as particularly groundbreaking. But he had never mentioned to her how modernized everything was. She had accepted his role as ‘CEO’ almost as if it were a self-appointed title he jokingly gave himself. She had not realized the true meaning of it.
He had built this from the ground up.
The entire place resembled MTAC.
Ziva glanced at him as he turned on the computers and the air conditioner, still pacing around the office. He seemed so… alive. Meant to be there.
He belonged there.
And she was suddenly inundated with an immense wave of pride and love for this man, enough to make her chest burn. He deserved something like this. He deserved far more of it—this kind of success.
“Widescreen, high-res setup tied into a next-gen wireless network.” Tony grinned as the computer screens flickered to life. “Fully encrypted, high-bandwidth,” he added proudly, slipping so naturally into tech jargon it was almost endearing. “Handles real-time surveillance and data without breaking a sweat,” he said. “McGee helped me install the software, Claudette made it actually usable. Oh, if you could see the two of them in meetings.” He blew out a breath. “Absolute gremlin convention.”
He met her eyes then and grew quiet, watching as she moved around the office, taking in all the little trinkets and pieces of him.
“So,” Tony said carefully, something expectant crossing his face. “What do you think?”
Ziva walked toward one of the shelves, picking up an item she had not seen in years.
His Mickey Mouse stapler.
“It suits you.” She smiled, setting it back down.
When she turned, he was looking at her. Not really careful anymore, but almost in wonder, hands braced against the desk as he leaned back against it. Tony’s head tilted slightly to the side, a soft smile pulling at his mouth. It made her blush. It looked too much like adoration.
“What?”
And he blinked, forcing himself out of his stupor.
“Sorry,” Tony said. “It’s just that…”
But he could not seem to find the words. He averted his eyes for a moment, looking down, but they found hers again almost immediately, as if he could not help it.
“Yeah?” she asked, walking toward him now, curious.
Tony looked at her for the longest moment before finally shrugging.
“I’ve been daydreaming about this for a long time,” he admitted. “Bringing you here. Showing you this.”
And at his shy smile, Ziva understood. The years before had not been kind to them. As much as she had used the fading memories of him and Tali to push herself forward, she also knew he had survived by holding onto wishes like this. But she had promised herself she would not wallow in the past more than necessary. This was no place for it. So she moved closer instead, grateful she had lived long enough to witness it.
This dream of his.
Ziva smiled, tracking the look on his face as she lifted her hands to frame it. Her fingers grazed the side of his hair, feeling the soft tips beneath her fingertips, and at her touch, Tony’s hands went immediately to her hips.
“Your high-tech equipment?” Ziva asked, trying to lighten the mood.
He chuckled.
“That, too.” His thumb pressed lightly against her stomach. “But no. This, actually.”
And Tony stretched to the side, taking his phone out of his pocket. She watched as he searched for the app, and as he pressed a few buttons on the screen, she was taken aback by the low rumbling sound coming from behind her.
Until then, the wall that held the door had been transparent, giving her a clear view of the employees—people moving between desks, screens glowing blue against polished surfaces, conversations muted through the thick glass—but Ziva watched, a little stupefied, as it shifted into an opaque panel. She could still see the vague movement of people, blurred shapes crossing the corridor, but something told her the view from outside was no longer the same.
This was a room designed for the man in charge. And as Ziva glanced around, she noticed the table holding six chairs, likely where meetings took place. From the darkened glass panel back to the arrangement of the furniture, she realized this was meant for private conversations. This was probably where he brought in important clients. Her eyes caught on the tray stationed at the corner of the room, a bottle of whiskey beside a couple of glasses. Everything about the office was designed for privacy.
And when she looked back at him, Tony was smiling—that wide smile of his, cheeks lifted and eyes bright, the one that almost always meant trouble.
“Oh.” Ziva tapped his chest. “Yes. That is much more you.”
“In what way?”
And she looked at him again, puzzled. But he followed the tilt of her head, mirroring her stance, his eyes narrowing.
She scoffed. It took only a glance for him to realize exactly where her mind had gone.
An office designed for privacy. Thick glass walls that could turn opaque at the touch of a button. A locking door. A wide desk. Enough space for far more than… business meetings.
Tony laughed. And maybe that had not been what he originally had in mind, but now it very obviously was. Ziva tracked, amused, the sudden reddening of his cheeks. He averted his eyes with a grin at the same moment his grip tightened around her waist.
“That wasn’t—hey.” But the idea was already there now, dancing shamelessly in his eyes. “I know how this looks, but I didn’t—”
She pressed her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck. Yes. She liked this version of him—a man in control of things, owner of his own space. Wearing Tom Ford and treating all his employees with respect. Comfortable in his own skin. It would be a lie to say Ziva was not secretly pleased right now, knowing he was the boss. And a very good one, at that. But she had always known he would be. Or at least expected it.
“What?” She tracked the cogs turning in his mind, the slight shake of his head beneath her amused stare, even as his hands slid lower against her shirt, pressing into the small of her back in complete contradiction to his attempts at denying where his thoughts had gone.
“I didn’t—” His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. Then Tony looked at her, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips so close to his, and a smile danced at the corner of his mouth, betraying just how much he liked the idea.
“Yes?” she asked, already laughing.
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t exactly install privacy glass for office sex, okay?”
Ziva’s brows lifted. “So you do admit to having thought about it.”
“Maybe a little.”
“A little?” she repeated, amused.
“A normal amount.”
Then his eyes turned far too intense for that answer to be believable, and it made her laugh outright.
“You are a terrible liar.”
Tony grinned, fighting a smile that was already impossible to hide.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted. “A lot more now that you’re here.”
He ducked his head, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. His lips pressed against her pulse just beneath her ear, and Ziva shuddered, smiling as she tilted her head to give him better access. Tony took the invitation immediately, nibbling gently along the line of her throat. He breathed her in, one hand tightening around her waist while his mouth moved slowly up and down her jaw in a way that made her eyes flutter shut.
Hm. It felt far too good for him to be doing almost nothing at all. But neck kisses had always been a weakness, and he knew it.
She felt the peppering kisses turn wetter, more demanding. A soft breath escaped her at the way he did that—his thumb finding her chin and tilting her face to the other side, exposing her throat for him even as she instinctively tried to follow where his mouth was headed.
Tony had always had a way of making her defenses fall so easily.
Within a minute, Ziva was licking her lips, her eyes closed, affected.
“Can they see us?” she asked, low.
“They can’t.”
A breath escaped her then, at the mere thought of doing something with him in total secrecy inside his office. Tony, as boss, again. Kissing her neck. Holding her waist. She moaned softly. The sound dragged her mind back to where they had left off that morning—his smirk disappearing between her legs, the firm pressure of his hand against her stomach—and with that image still vivid in her mind, Ziva lost what little patience she had left, leaning in to catch him in a kiss.
His fingers threaded into her hair almost immediately. He pulled her closer somehow, even when there barely seemed to be any space left between them. Tony leaned back against his desk, and she followed, one of his legs slipping between hers.
His tongue met hers—excruciatingly soft in that way of his, before his hand found the nape of her neck and the other slid dangerously low against her backside. Then the kiss deepened, turned hungrier, more insistent. Ziva clutched at his shirt. And it was so, so easy for her mind to go blank. And her legs to weaken. His knee shifted an inch higher between her thighs. It was enough for her to feel the pressure of it and understand exactly what he wanted without him ever needing to say it.
For a moment, the kiss connected. It felt mind-numbing. And it happened so constantly that it was a wonder they ever stopped kissing at all. Her heart raced. Tony let out a short breath against her mouth, and when his hands traveled down to cup her ass, Ziva answered by catching his lower lip between her teeth.
She could feel him growing hard beneath her. The way she kept kissing him, wanting more of him, must have done something to him, because Tony groaned softly under his breath before pulling back just enough to catch it.
He looked at her, eyes nearly black beneath heavy lids.
And Ziva knew he would take her right there against his desk if she asked.
His gaze roamed over her face, searching for more. She doubted she looked any better herself, desire curling hot inside her with the lingering memory of his tongue teasing her, now amplified tenfold with his hands gripping her so fully. But when Tony leaned in to kiss her again, she stopped him.
Ziva pressed a hand to his chest instead, a wide grin breaking across her face.
When he tried again a second later, tongue already peeking between his lips, she deflected him once more. The amusement on his face began to fade, Tony’s brows lifting as he tried to figure out what exactly she was doing.
Ziva only leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth softly, a teasing little peck.
“Tsk.” She giggled, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “A shame,” she murmured. “They’re going to miss the whole show.”
He looked at her intensely. Ziva’s mouth parted as she met his eyes, desire making her thoughts race while her hand drifted lower.
Her palm found him already hard beneath the fabric, the shape of him obvious through the trousers, and Tony exhaled deeply the second he realized what she meant. But she could not help herself. He looked so handsome in his suit, leaning against his office desk, so effortlessly in control that she suddenly wanted nothing more than to ruin him a little. To get hold of that flicker of power again, the one she knew she could have if she played this right.
Her fingers traced over him slowly, enough pressure to make the fabric pull taut beneath her touch. She kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against his. Then Ziva used one of the very few tricks she knew got under his skin fast—she let out a low moan into his mouth.
And Tony’s hand tightened in her hair instantly. A groan rumbled out of him as he tugged just enough to tip her head back, exposing her to his gaze while his eyes locked onto hers.
And Ziva smiled, openly enjoying the way his control kept colliding with hers.
“Ziva,” he murmured, but the breathlessness ruined any authority behind it.
Tony’s jaw tightened as she toyed with him, his grip in her hair turning rougher while his gaze dropped to her mouth again. She smiled wider, almost wicked now, wondering if he realized exactly where she was taking this.
But when her fingers moved to unbuckle his belt, it finally sounded like a warning, “Ziva.”
Even if he made no move to stop her.
“Shh,” she cooed, absolutely loving the flicker of helplessness that crossed his beautiful face when she opened the buckle, pulled down the zipper, and squeezed him.
The air felt hot around them. Lust prickled across her skin.
A soft groan escaped him when she slipped her hand inside, still over his boxers, but finally finding his cock hard and solid beneath her palm. Tony let his head fall back for a second before forcing himself upright again, jaw tightening hard enough for her to notice. She could see him trying to regain control of himself, of the situation, but when she kept rubbing her hand slowly up and down over the fabric, bunching it beneath her touch, he did nothing to stop her. His breathing turned uneven, his stare fixed on her like he had forgotten how to blink.
Ziva held the eye contact. There was something so intense about it, so unbearably satisfying, that in the end it was Tony who looked away first, a rough breath leaving him through his nose. Still, she kept touching him, slow and deliberate, until she could feel the full weight of him pressing insistently against her palm.
Ziva searched for his mouth again, if only to distract him as her hand slipped inside his clothes, searching for bare skin, but he stopped with a soft gasp, one hand moving quickly over hers.
“Ziva, I have a meeting in…” Tony glanced down at his watch. “Well. Five minutes.”
She waited for him to pull her hand away. But he didn’t. He only kept staring at her, eyes dropping briefly between them. And when she started moving again, her palm rubbing slowly over him, he kept his hand there over hers, almost as though he was guiding the pace of it.
“Hm.” Ziva pressed her lips together, pretending to think. “That is more than enough, yes?”
Tony laughed. The sound dissolved into a soft breath the second her thumb brushed over the ridge on its head, kneading lightly.
“I don’t think that’s a—”
His words died the moment Ziva used his body for balance as she lowered herself, clearly intending to kneel. She held his gaze the entire time, smirking, and she was almost certain Tony stopped breathing when her hands slid down the fabric of his trousers and she settled between his legs, right in front of him. Her knees between his feet.
He frowned a little then, that beautiful crease appearing between his brows as he closed his eyes, locking his jaw briefly before exhaling. As if he could not bear the sight of her there like that, in front of him. He laughed, surprised. And only looked at her again when Ziva’s fingers touched him once more, her thumb brushing over the outline of his head. Then Tony looked away, somewhere past the walls of his office, as though merely watching her do it was already too much for him.
She pulled him out of his briefs, and he was already upright, although bending a little, toward her palm. It was almost as if an invitation, and Ziva didn’t even fully think of reaching it before her tongue was flat over the tip, wiping the shining bead clean.
She let herself linger there for a second, teasing more than anything, and Tony’s eyelids dropped heavily as his hand found the back of her head, not pushing, only holding.
“Shit,” he breathed, voice rougher now. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
But when Ziva kissed its crown, lips pressing on it gently until it slipped just a bit into her mouth, he hissed, his cock jerking, and she laughed. For someone who thought this was not a good idea, the way he tracked her smile while brushing a strand of hair away from her face made him seem very, very into it.
There was no sign at all that he intended to stop her.
Her hand wrapped around the base, thumb brushing lightly along the sensitive veins there, and she did exactly what she already knew unraveled him—pressed her tongue flat on the underside, slowly dragging it upward until Tony took a sharp intake of breath.
“Hm.” Ziva kissed it, slow and teasing. Then she pulled back just enough to smirk at him, adding with a wicked little smile, “I think it’s an amazing idea.”
If he was going to say something, it turned into a quiet groan the moment she took him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled over the tip, then wrapped around the head. Ziva kept it soft but moving, exactly the way she knew brought out the worst in him, slowly, every touch calculated—and she was pleased to see his breath shudder. She sucked him, feeling the tip hit the back of her throat and slid against her saliva.
He liked it better when she helped with her hands, so she wrapped both around him, leaving only her lips to kiss the crown. When she swirled her tongue again, just at the tip, brushing against the hard ridge at his head, Tony let out a sound from the back of his throat—soft, slipping beyond his control. And it made her heart race. She liked to see him like that. Slowly losing it. She met his eyes.
Despite his attempts at staying silent, his face was gone: Tony’s eyelids heavy, mouth parted, that little crease she had grown to adore forming again between his brows. His fingers grazed the side of her face, soft and tentative. But when she pumped him and took him into her mouth again, deliberately slow, looking at him while she did that, something flickered across his expression. As if he knew exactly how much she was willing to do to wreck him—and he was fully on board with all of it.
She held his gaze while she took him, keeping her hands wrapped tight around his cock. The slick sound of her grip sliding up and down filled the quiet office—broken only by the uneven rhythm of his breathing. In the silence, it was obscene. And maybe that was the moment Tony realized it too, because despite everything she was doing to him, he suddenly looked away, eyes darting past the walls of his office as though someone might walk in and catch them.
But this was his office. He owned the place.
At least neither of them could get fired over this. Tony’s carefully built reputation was probably in far more danger, though.
Ziva could not bring herself to care.
She watched his face as he looked back at her, that slack, desperate expression she loved appearing again when she made no move to stop. Ziva had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
“I think you’re very bad at convincing me otherwise,” she murmured. Her lips dragging up and down.
And before he had the chance to retort, Tony’s response dissolved into a strangled grunt when she kept going, steady and deliberate, eyes never leaving his. She took him deep again, her throat opening to accept him. She let him hit the back, held there for a second, then pulled back just enough to swirl her tongue around the head. Her hands worked the base in a steady rhythm—one squeezing, the other sliding up to meet her lips.
And maybe she should not have said that. Or maybe it was all of it—the forbidden edge of it, the thrill of getting caught, the heat between them. But she saw the exact moment something changed. The look on his face turned from desperate to pleased, letting her know just how much he was enjoying it.
And it made her ravenous.
Tony’s parted mouth curled into a smile, his hands finding the back of her head. It was not that common for him to get aggressive during sex, but Ziva enjoyed it precisely because it meant she had pushed him past a limit he could not fully control. And even then, it was never the kind of aggression that hurt her. It was the hot kind—the way he tried to regain control, dominate the situation again, even as her mouth slid up and down his shaft. The way he recognized exactly what she was doing to him and instinctively fought back, trying to turn the attention onto her instead. She knew how much he preferred that too, being the one in control.
And that, this endless fight over who was better at undoing the other, was what made it so much fun.
Ziva pressed her palms flat against his hips, fingers digging into the fabric of his slacks as she lowered her mouth onto him again. Without her hands to guide or control the pace, every movement came from her lips, her tongue, her throat.
And when her gaze met his again, Tony was nodding almost imperceptibly, his hand resting gently against the back of her head. Yes, he was enjoying it. Enjoying it so much she could see the tension in his hips, the effort it took not to speed things up, not to simply let go of every ounce of restraint.
Then, when she pulled back just enough to catch a breath, he used the moment to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, the screen lighting to life in his hand.
“Claudette…” Tony said into the phone, thumb clearly pressing down on an audio message, though his other one brushed against the wet saliva slipping down Ziva’s chin. She used the moment to press a light kiss to the crown of his cock, her tongue tracing the ridge slowly as she looked up at him, watching his eyelids lower just slightly.
“Would you mind…” Tony started, then had to stop for a breath. “Not letting anyone into my office? Lock the doors.”
And less than ten seconds later, Ziva heard the office door click shut. It had to be technology-based because it certainly did not sound like a key.
A message chimed on his phone.
“On it, boss.”
And Ziva could have sworn there was a snickering undertone to it, like Claudette was grinning on the other side of the line.
Then she smiled. Wide, wicked.
Ziva took him in her hand again without missing a beat. Tony groaned, louder this time, the sound catching deep in his throat when her mouth wrapped around him once more and she took him in.
His hand slid into her hair, gathering it away from her face, and then—finally giving in—he helped hold it back so she would not make a complete mess of it.
When she looked at him again, his expression had gone serious. His eyes followed the movement of her mouth, watching himself disappear and reappear between her lips, and Ziva could feel the pressure of him at the back of her throat. She did it again, palms flattening against his trousers, but this time Tony’s hips moved instinctively into her touch. And she knew, from the way his mouth parted and his breathing turned uneven, that the hand he kept so carefully at the back of her head was enough to make his fragile control feel real.
Ziva hummed softly around him, drawing another rough sound from his throat. Tony closed his eyes immediately, his head tipping back for a second as though the sensation had hit him too hard all at once.
Everything turned faster after that. Sloppier. More real.
He guided her movements only gently, his hand firm at the back of her head, but Ziva could still feel the strain of restraint in him. Her throat vibrated with another low hum, eyes watering slightly as she looked up at him.
Merely the sight of him like that—throat exposed, head tipped back, every reaction written plainly across his face—did something to her. And then his head fell forward again, jaw locking tight the second their gazes met, as though being watched by her was what truly undid him.
And then the computer started ringing, the sharp tuning sound of an incoming call cutting through the office.
They were not very good at stopping. Tony laughed under his breath, teeth digging briefly into his lower lip. Ziva’s brows lifted slightly, curious about where he was going with that, but she kept doing exactly what she had been doing—her hand moving slowly around him while her tongue teased, deliberate and skilled enough to keep pulling reactions out of him.
“Aren’t you going to take that?”
And Tony’s hips pushed forward, into her mouth. He watched her take him in, cheeks hollowing.
There was something about it—not knowing who was in charge.
He laughed under his breath. “I’m gonna show you who’s going to take it,” he said. “In a minute.”
“Hm.” Ziva laughed too, thumb brushing slowly over him. “Confident.”
He scoffed softly, though there was no real bite to it.
“You like confident.” True. But more than confidence, she liked him, which was what truly mattered.
“I like watching you pretend you are still in control.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I am in control.”
And Tony pulled her up gently by the fist tangled in her hair, until Ziva had no choice but to climb over him to stand, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt for balance. The sound of his clients calling kept repeating through the office, a sharp reminder of responsibilities waiting for him.
Then, with a smirk that made heat crawl straight up her neck, Tony took the end of his tie and used the silk to wipe the wetness from her chin. The gesture was so unbearably revealing somehow—possessive, intimate, far hotter than it should have been—that for the first time since this had started, Ziva was no longer entirely certain the control belonged solely to her.
Because his words had carried another meaning too: they could lose themselves in this if they wanted to. They simply were not allowing themselves to.
Tony’s eyes gleamed the second she realized it, as if he had been waiting for her to catch up to him. And something about the deliberate way he cleaned her up, the ease with which he brought everything to a halt, made her heart stumble unexpectedly in her chest. He adjusted himself back into his trousers, smoothing down his tie afterward, then sent her a look that very clearly promised: I will get back at you for this.
He walked past her, moving to the other side of his desk.
She couldn’t help but follow him, almost as if entranced by all of it.
“Is that why you nearly forgot how to breathe a second ago?” Ziva asked.
And it was the same game they had been playing for years now, cat and mouse with no clear winner, neither of them ever truly willing to stop. She did not know if they ever would. Secretly, she hoped they would not. The look Tony sent her in return was far too amused, his eyes bright with challenge and something dangerously fond beneath it. Between them, that was the best kind of foreplay.
“You noticed that, huh?” he teased.
“I notice everything.”
Ziva smiled faintly as she watched him lower himself back into his chair. Then Tony adjusted his tie with practiced calm, smoothing it down as though the last several minutes had not happened at all. But the softness at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. She loved that—being the only one who knew what sat beneath all that composure.
“Yeah?” he asked, leaning back slightly.
“Yes.”
Her heart raced, thrilled. Her fingers drifted along the polished wood of his desk as she moved around it slowly, unhurried, before settling at the corner nearest his chair—carefully out of view from the computer screen. She crossed her arms loosely over herself, catching the look he was sending her now: warm, challenging, still a little wrecked underneath it all.
“Then you should know you’re playing a dangerous game,” he said.
Ziva hummed softly.
“You keep saying that like it is supposed to scare me.”
If anything, she looked forward to it.
“It’s supposed to warn you.”
“And if I do not want a warning?”
That made something crack. Tony huffed out a laugh, glancing away for a second as though she had finally pushed him too far in the exact way he liked. And when his eyes found hers again, they gleamed with mischief, carrying the unmistakable promise of later.
Then he pressed the button to answer the call.
“DiNozzo,” he said calmly, as though his composure had never slipped for even a second. “Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting. Had to take care of something.”
And that tiny, knowing smile—barely there, entirely hers—made her stomach tighten pleasantly.
“John,” Tony continued easily. “How’s the family?”
A stranger’s voice, presumably John’s, came through the computer speakers first. Another followed right after, and soon they were all talking business, discussing some design proposal for a company Tony was already familiar with.
Ziva quickly lost herself in the details of the conversation, the voices blending into background noise as her attention drifted elsewhere entirely. To him. To the way he sat leaning back in his chair, composed and easy, smiling at the appropriate moments. The only real sign of nerves was the pen in his hand, endlessly clicking between his fingers as the conversation continued.
She liked that in him. Tony rarely let his mask fall enough for anyone to notice what sat underneath, but these tiny habits always slipped through eventually, little glimpses that made all that confidence feel human instead of polished. And God, there was something incredibly attractive about watching him charm people while still nervous enough to fidget through it.
Intrusive thoughts invaded her mind almost immediately, and she blamed it entirely on waking up that morning with his hands spreading her thighs. This was an endless fight between them, really. And if she was being honest, merely payback for what he had already started earlier. Or so she told herself. He should have seen it coming.
He should have seen it coming the second Ziva smiled, an idea already taking shape.
It was easy, with him, to have these wicked thoughts—to feel dragged back into a younger, more reckless version of herself. She imagined that with anyone else, she would have thought they were too old for this, for trouble like this. But not with him. With him, it was easy. It was easy and reckless and fun. And she always wanted to impress him just as much as she wanted to be impressed by him. Tony had a way of making everything feel exciting.
He always had.
He should have seen it coming when she slowly lowered herself to her knees beside his chair, but he did not. The moment he noticed what she was doing, his beautiful eyes widened just slightly, and the smile he had been giving them at a joke she had not even heard froze on Tony’s face for half a second.
He didn’t see it coming.
The conversation carried on through the speakers, voices blending together as they discussed the deal, while Ziva maneuvered herself between his knees beneath the wide wooden desk. Her knees hurt a bit when she crawled underneath it, but somehow, she had no idea how, she fit. The dark wood concealed her completely, his legs settling comfortably on either side of hers as though the space had been made precisely for this kind of trouble.
Tony kept talking smoothly, but she noticed the exact moment his composure became effort instead of instinct. The pen in his hand stopped clicking. His posture straightened, sitting back slightly. The fabric of his thighs stretched just in front of her. She positioned herself better, her face between his knees. And when his gaze flicked downward for the briefest second before returning to the screen, she had to bite back a smile.
“I’m proposing prevention instead of damage control,” she heard him say.
Through the speakers, the discussion continued professionally, but Ziva noticed the shift in the air. It did not escape her—the way Tony spread his legs slightly wider beneath the desk, giving her more room between them. How he leaned his chair back just enough to let her crawl closer without hitting the top of her head. How this was not out of instinct. He was doing it on purpose. He knew exactly where this was heading. And, briefly embarrassed by how much that realization affected her, she felt heat rise to her cheeks.
Yes, she had expected him to enjoy it. But she had not expected him to accommodate it so easily, like he had already accepted whatever trouble she was about to cause. He wanted it. Was waiting for it. It was too dirty. And perhaps there was something about the forbidden nature of it all that had gotten under his skin.
It had certainly gotten under hers.
Her heart was racing, thrilled by every second of it. But it felt almost insulting that Tony seemed to think he would walk out of this untouched. She wanted him distracted enough to feel it, undone enough for it to show, but only where she could see it. She did not actually want him ruining the call, of course. That was the difficult part, balancing the line between temptation and disaster. And, listening to the careful calm in his voice, she found herself wondering whether he would truly make it through this unaffected after all.
Ziva let her palms trace slowly over the muscles of his thighs, from his knees toward his hips, and noticed then that he had left his belt half-unbuckled, not having had time to finish adjusting himself before the call began. Which made her job easier, but also made her wonder where Tony stood in all of this, whether he still intended for them to finish what they had been doing before the interruption.
She eased the rest of the buckle open, pushing it aside. He was back inside his briefs, though it would not be difficult to—
Tony’s hand appeared beneath the table only to free himself and Ziva was left momentarily stunned by him helping her along. One finger brushed against her cheek, almost a caress, and she fought the rush of conflicting feelings—finding it far too filthy and wanting to lean into it anyway. Oh, he would be wrong to think this would be easy. But if he wanted a mess, then so be it. She would gladly accept the challenge.
Ziva wasted no time positioning herself so her mouth would find the base of his cock, her tongue lying flat along the underside as her hands squeezed him firmly, coaxing him fully upright in seconds. She let her fingertips trace the veins from base to tip, then back down again, before finding the engorged head at the top. Her touch was featherlight—just the tips of her fingers circling the shaft—a stark contrast to the hard press of her thumb as she met his ridge.
She knew it was his most sensitive spot, and she could not fight the warm flicker of pride that rushed through her when Tony’s knees shifted instinctively, his whole body reacting in tandem with the jerk of him in her hand. He should be glad he was not the one speaking to the clients then, because a shining bead had already appeared at the tip, damp and glistening. And foreplay be damned, Ziva pulled him toward her, unable to resist wrapping her lips around him.
She felt reckless. It was too much fun.
She started slowly, taking her time, and did not miss the soft breath that escaped him when her lips dragged up and down. To anyone else, Tony merely sounded engaged in the conversation, reacting to it, but Ziva knew better. The quiet hum at the back of his throat carried unmistakable restraint, as though he was fighting every instinct not to let more slip out.
“And you can realistically handle all our branches?”
“We already handle companies bigger than yours,” Tony replied. And she was surprised to see he didn’t falter at all.
She kept going, her hand wrapped around him just below her mouth, pumping in a steady rhythm, and the heat of the moment was impossible to ignore. There was something intoxicating about it—not quite exhibitionism, not quite secrecy either, but the shared knowledge that only the two of them understood what was really happening beneath the surface of the conversation. Beneath that desk. That private tension alone made everything feel sharper, hotter.
A chuckle sounded from the other side of the line. “That confident, huh?” the man asked.
Ziva barely had time to process it before Tony’s hand found the back of her head, gathering her hair loosely in his fist. He kept his attention fixed on the screen, expression controlled, but she knew him well enough to read the encouragement in the touch alone.
“Confident?” Tony echoed with a laugh. Then, with just the slightest pull, guiding her mouth around him, he added, “Yeah. Only on weekdays.”
It was too hot, too filthy, and the realization alone nearly undid her. He guided her movements with a firm hand in her hair, and Ziva followed the rhythm instinctively, letting him take control for a moment. It was difficult not to make a sound, difficult not to lean further into him, but she continued to suck, obliging. But then he stopped her just long enough for her to catch her breath. And she stayed there for a second, lips parted, trying to steady herself while he kept hold of her gently but insistently.
When she instinctively tried to move closer again, he tugged her back slightly by her hair, stopping her, and immediately, she understood.
He needed to focus on the conversation, otherwise he would ruin the deal entirely. Ziva wondered if he was anywhere close to coming already, considering how long she had been on her knees. Part of her considered stopping, making him sit with the frustration of it a little longer. But then she watched the involuntary twitch of his cock in front of her and decided enough time had already passed with her mouth away from him.
Fuck important clients.
She slowed down this time, kissing rather than sucking. She knew if she was too fast, he would not be able to take it. When he realized she had understood, his grip on her hair loosened, though she found herself missing the tighter pull. Ziva let her lips drag slowly along him instead, teasing more than anything else, and was deeply satisfied to discover that even that—something so restrained compared to what she actually wanted—still affected him.
Then, as if to warn her, Tony glanced down at her for the first time.
A mistake.
He realized it immediately too, which only made her smile wider.
Because she knew exactly what that sight did to him. Knew the kind of control it stripped away, even if only for a second. And there it was—that tiny crack in the performance. His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, heavy with something barely restrained, before the familiar charm slid back into place like armor.
It did something to her, seeing that.
That split second where the mask slipped.
“Your pricing came in higher than the competition,” the man pointed out.
“The competition is selling guards.” He recovered quickly, though his breathing came back slightly heavier.
“And you?” the man said.
“I’m selling peace of mind.”
A pause. Then, calmer, quieter:
“I’m selling the ability to sleep through the night without wondering who’s watching your doors.”
It would have been a waste not to suck him now. He was right there in front of her, all hard and glistening, and Ziva knew exactly how much power she held. The awareness of it pulsed through her, impossible not to answer. She knew how much he could be affected. This time, though, she slowed down for him, granting the silent request she had understood earlier. Her hands settled around him again, one at the base, the other right above it, while she let the rest of it become gentler—teasing instead of pushing, patient instead of relentless. Let her tongue do the work, swirling over the tip, until her mouth wrapped around it, swallowing it down.
Ziva focused entirely on it this time: the continuous action of moving and sucking. She let her tongue soften, her mouth take it slow and steady, but not stopping. The pressure of him hit the back of her throat, and she breathed deeply, accommodating him. The closeness of it, the intimacy, was dizzying. Tony’s hand found the side of her face again, brushing her hair back with barely-there touches that still sent heat racing through her. That more than anything nearly undid her—that carefulness, that restraint, even here. It was exhilarating.
She did not stop.
“What happens if we move forward?” the man asked.
And she sped up. It sounded promising enough that maybe she could afford to.
“My team conducts a full vulnerability assessment,” Tony said. A long pause. She glanced up at him. And despite the steadiness of his voice, his cheeks were fully flushed now. “Cyber, executive protection, logistics, internal risk,” he said. She could have sworn he swallowed a whimper. “Then I offend at least two department heads and save you a few million dollars.”
“Jesus.” The man chuckled.
“He’s kidding,” said a third voice.
“I’m really not.”
It was so difficult not to react, not to moan around him, that from beneath the desk she found herself wondering how much harder it must be for him. The entire situation was unbearably hot, enough that she could already feel the effect it had on her. She could feel herself already wet. That part was hardly surprising.
Looking up at him, she caught the faint sheen of sweat at his forehead now, the careful concentration it took to keep this conversation going. He was making a tremendous effort. And there was something intoxicating about that—to hold this kind of power over the most powerful man in the room. She wanted more of it.
So she pushed a little further.
Ziva dragged her mouth down his rigid shaft, as far as she could, and forced herself to accommodate him. She could feel when her throat eased open, and focused on her breathing to let him go past her gag reflex. In and out through her nose, she closed her eyes. Then, with a deep exhale, she swallowed, that with him still deep in her mouth.
And Tony’s knee knocked sharply against the wood, rattling everything on top of the desk. A rough sound escaped him, abrupt enough that he had to turn it into a cough a second later. An apology followed a second later, controlled, though barely.
And Ziva was almost certain that, for one brief second, it had sounded dangerously close to a moan.
She released him, pulling back just long enough to breathe.
“So you’re saying our system has holes.”
It was the first time during the entire conversation that he faltered. The pause before his answer stretched just a little too long. Long enough to make her heart race at the possibility that he had finally lost himself in it too much to recover at all.
So she eased back slightly, watching the lower half of his chest rise and fall with effort. Tony’s grip in her hair tightened again, firmer now, serious, and Ziva stared up at him in quiet fascination—the flushed skin, the visible tension in his body, at his cock, the complete disarray she had dragged him into. Her hair clung messily to her face, her knees already aching against the floor, and still she could not bring herself to care.
For one brief second, she thought he might actually need to stop and collect himself.
Then Tony inhaled deeply and grinned.
And just like that, the arrogance slipped back into place on his shoulders as naturally as if it had never left at all.
“I’m saying I found six in the first ten minutes,” he said. Then, he released her entirely.
She was sad to see him put himself back into his briefs, almost as if he knew it was the only way to prevent her from trying to make him come. She knew it would not be that difficult, not if she did it right. But she also knew some things could not be played with, no matter how sexy it was to watch him unravel.
“And if we sign?” John asked. Though honestly, his tone already gave away that the decision had already been made.
There was a brief pause on the line, the faint sound of someone shifting papers in the background. Beneath the desk, Ziva heard Tony exhale softly through his nose, the tension in him changing instantly. Even without seeing his face, she could hear the smile in his voice when he answered.
“Then your problems become my problems,” he replied.
A chuckle crackled through the speakers.
“Okay. You got us. Send over the final contract, DiNozzo.”
And the atmosphere shifted immediately after that, lighter now, the formality easing just slightly now that the deal was done.
“There it is. We’re excited to work with you guys. We’ll take good care of you.”
“We’re looking forward to it too.”
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen.”
Tony told them they would receive the contract by email before the goodbyes began, all easy professionalism and smooth charm again.
Then the call ended. As quickly as it had started.
And Ziva was left with the crushing realization that not only had what they had done been unbelievably risky, they had somehow managed to build an entire layer of intimacy beneath that conversation without getting caught.
It might have been one of the most erotic experiences of her life.
And he must have felt it too—her racing heartbeat, the lingering heat still curling through her body, the effort it took not to reach for him again, not to touch herself, not to give in to the tension they had spent the last half an hour building between them.
The chair scraped sharply against the floor, loud after the silence left behind by the call, and Ziva stayed where she was beneath the desk, still on her knees as Tony stood. Her gaze caught first on his shoes—masculine, polished, unmistakably him—and the sight alone sent another wave of heat through her.
The tension in the room felt unbearable now that there was nothing left to distract them from it. Nothing left unsaid, and yet too much of it hanging heavily between them anyway. Ziva could swear her heart might drop straight onto the floor at his feet from the sheer weight of it.
She pulled her hair out of her face.
She was completely wet, she could feel it.
Tony stood, his feet angled slightly to the side, as though gathering himself before addressing what had just happened. Or maybe deciding what to do next. And the thought of that thrilled her—the anticipation of it, the promise of finally reaching some kind of release after all that unbearable restraint.
Her heart was racing now, loud enough that she could hear it in her ears.
“Get up.”
That was all he said. Serious. Commanding.
And it did something to her, that tone—low and firm in a way that sent heat crashing through her all over again. Though part of her wondered if she was about to be scolded for what they had just done, Ziva obeyed immediately, crawling carefully out from beneath the desk so she would not hit her head before pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.
The moment she stood, cool air brushed against her flushed skin, and she let out a shaky breath, relieved by it for all of half a second. Because then there was nowhere left to hide.
She was almost afraid to meet his eyes.
And when she finally did, the entire room seemed to collapse inward around them. The screens, the office, the city outside the glass walls—gone. There was only the line of tension stretched painfully tight between them.
Tony looked at her like a starving man. His eyes were dark, blown wide with restraint, jaw tight enough that she could see the muscle flex. And for one suspended, unbearable second, her heart forgot how to beat.
Neither of them moved.
Then he tilted his head slightly and inhaled, slow and deep, as though trying to regain control of himself and failing at it.
“Tony,” Ziva said, struggling to gather her thoughts enough to decide whether he needed an apology or congratulations. “I only did that because—”
She never finished the sentence.
Tony crossed the distance between them too quickly for her to react, one hand finding her jaw as his mouth crashed against hers. The kiss was hot, messy, desperate in a way that made it obvious he had been holding himself back for far too long. His tongue met hers, his mouth demanding enough to leave her breathless, and it felt so good that Ziva nearly moaned against him from the sheer relief of finally touching him properly again.
His hands found her shoulders, pulling her firmly against him, while hers looped around his neck. Just the sensation of him pressed fully against her again, solid, warm, undeniably real after all that restraint, made her dizzy.
She closed her eyes.
God, she needed him.
She barely registered who was moving first after that. One second they were kissing, and the next they were stumbling backwards together through the office like they were drunk on each other instead of standing there at nine in the morning in the middle of Tony’s workday.
Her hands moved on instinct, tangled in his shirt and his hair, while his mouth stayed demanding against hers, like he was trying to consume every sound she made before it could escape. Somewhere between one step and the next, he shrugged out of his suit jacket with impatient movements, and Ziva fumbled with his tie, fingers clumsy from how badly she was shaking.
Everything blurred together after that.
The sound of fabric hitting the floor. The dizzying feeling of his body pressed against hers again and again. At some point she lost her shoes without even noticing, left abandoned somewhere behind them as if neither of them had the patience to care.
Then the backs of her knees hit the hard edge of the table in the side of the room. The impact startled a breath out of her, but neither of them stopped. Tony kept kissing her as though he had lost all intention of slowing down now that he had finally let himself touch her. Let himself have her.
And it was only when he pushed forward again and she leaned back instinctively that Ziva realized where they were. For one dizzy second there was nothing beneath her except air, before her back hit the surface of the table with a sharp thud that rattled everything on top of it.
Then there was only Tony.
His arms, caging her in. His hands, gripping her waist tightly before sliding lower, drawing her closer against him like even this amount of contact was still not enough. He took the back of her knees and wrapped her legs around him. His mouth stayed on hers, rough and hungry, kissing her hard enough to make her lips swollen. And when their bodies finally pressed together properly after all that restraint, the sensation nearly wrecked her. Ziva arched against him immediately, fingers clutching at his shirt as a broken sound escaped into his mouth.
Yes, she heard herself cry out. Yes, it felt unbelievably good to be wanted by him like this, still. With this much intensity, this much hunger. There was a perfection to it, wanting him in equal measure. She wanted to wreck him and be wrecked by him in equal measure. And nothing had ever felt quite as perfect as that.
He pulled back, those dark eyes meeting hers in surrender.
“God,” he said, “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”
Then, as if he could not believe what they had just done himself, Tony started laughing, maybe out of nerves, or because the tension had finally broken, or simply from the insanity of all of it. He looked beautiful like that, happy and breathless, laughing hard enough for creases to form around his eyes, and the sight of him pulled the laughter out of Ziva almost immediately too. Soon they were both laughing helplessly, the sound echoing through the office while the adrenaline slowly faded from their bodies. Tony eventually collapsed on top of her chest, still laughing under his breath, his head buried against her shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, Ziva,” he said against her neck, kissing her there like he could not stop himself while she was this close. Her fingers threaded through his hair automatically. “I could’ve lost everything. My reputation would’ve been destroyed.”
But he had not lost it, and she knew he realized that too. Because when Tony pulled back enough to look at her again, his gaze wandered slowly over her, taking in what Ziva could only imagine was the complete mess of her hair spread around her shoulders, and his eyes sparkled with it, not a trace of anger anywhere in him. Just thrill. And the secret, now forever etched between them.
He only glanced down at her mouth then, smiling to himself, flushed and unfairly beautiful.
Ziva tilted her head slightly. “I knew you could handle it.” And laughed too.
And Tony exhaled harder then, as if the memory of it had hit him all over again. Her, trying to push him toward complete ruin beneath that desk. Him, barely holding himself together and shamelessly helping her do it anyway. And maybe Ziva let him see it too in that moment, the fact that she still wanted it just as badly. The hunger. The desire. All that wanting, still sitting heavy between them.
Almost like a switch being flipped, his happiness melted into something quieter, heavier, his eyes finding hers again with renewed focus. His mouth crashed back onto hers, and when his hand closed over her breast, Ziva pulled him down harder against her, silently begging for more. She still needed it, the release, something to ease the tension wound tight inside her. Her legs nearly trembled from how long they had stretched this out already. They were good at that on lazy days, drawing things out endlessly just to enjoy the torture of it, but they did not have that kind of time now. And maybe that was part of what made it feel so hot too, the urgency of it, the way they had to chase relief quickly before reality caught up with them again.
Tony must have realized it at the same moment she did, because he rolled his hips against hers, rougher this time, his hand lingering over her breast before slipping beneath her shirt. Goosebumps rose instantly beneath the path of his fingers, but when his grip tightened on her waist, Ziva felt molten from the inside out. She needed more. More closeness, more pressure, more of the heavy breaths he kept losing against her skin as the last pieces of his restraint finally began to give way.
Ziva pulled her hands away from him only long enough to undo the button of her trousers, dragging the waistband down just enough to let him in. She needed his hands on her now, needed the heat and pressure of them after everything they had built between them. And Tony understood that immediately. He let her guide him closer, his palm slipping beneath the fabric of her panties as both of them exhaled sharply at the contact.
She was already shaking from how much she wanted him, and the moment his hand finally touched her properly, his thumb finding its rightful place between her legs, a broken sound escaped her before she could stop it. Ziva clung to him, head tipping back against the desk as relief and heat rushed through her all at once.
It felt amazing then, how her wetness met the warmth of his touch.
It felt incredible to finally have that closeness, that friction, something real after spending so long suspended in anticipation. Her back arched instinctively, body chasing more of him, but the arm braced across her abdomen kept her where she was, held firmly beneath him. And suddenly he reminded her so much of earlier that morning—the same dark look in his eyes, the same expression of complete fascination whenever he touched her like this, as though he could lose himself in it entirely. But the expression flickered the moment his name slipped breathlessly from her lips.
Tony made a rough, almost pained sound at hearing it, like the effect of it hit him too hard all at once.
His hand never left her, but his head dropped into the crook of her neck, breathing uneven against her skin. He kissed her pulse, using his tongue to smooth over it.
“How can you be so wet already?”
Ziva moaned softly, rolling her hips against his hand. It was hard to breathe, hard to think with Tony pressed over her like this, one hand tight around her hip while the other was at her wetness, smearing it over herself. She tried to speak, but every thought dissolved before it could properly form. All that escaped her instead was another breathless, broken version of his name.
“I wish you had lost control,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
Tony let out a rough laugh against her skin. “Yeah, you almost got your wish. There was a moment there—”
“I know.” And remembering it, she added, “I wish you had come, then.” The boldness of her words sent heat rising to her cheeks. “I wanted it to happen when I was sucking you. I wanted to be tasting you when they said yes.”
He quickened the movement of his hand, and Ziva’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, the sudden intensity nearly enough to push her over the edge.
“You wanted me to come while on the call?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“On your tongue?” he asked, voice dropping lower. Tony liked dirty talk. He liked picturing it. She knew that.
“No.” Then she smiled. Wicked. “Deep in my throat.”
And she was not even entirely sure she believed it herself, but the look on his face made it worth saying anyway. He slipped one finger inside then, and Ziva rolled her eyes shut, the need of his touch nearly impossible to bear. Tony wasn’t gentle like he usually was. He was already fucking her, adding a second finger in almost no time, and the delicious pain of him forcing her to stretch herself for him made her thighs start to tremble.
She knew he was affected too—by that image, by its potential.
Tony’s hand tightened on her hip. “Jesus Christ, Ziva.”
“I know,” she repeated softly. And could only think of that to say, when his hand was invading her, stretching her folds, doing all of that without even bothering to take off her trousers, an urgent edge to it that made her see everything cross-eyed.
A humorless laugh escaped him. “Fuck. David.”
One of her brows lifted. “David?” It was not often she heard that anymore, the old partner-name slipping out instead of the ones they used now. It caught her off guard.
Tony shut his eyes briefly, like he could not think straight either.
“DiNozzo,” she replied teasingly, using his in return.
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at her again. His gaze dragged slowly over her, messy hair, swollen lips, the aftermath of what they had done written all over her. “I forget how dangerous you can be sometimes.” A pause. “Takes me back a few years.”
The tension shifted then, heavier now, less teasing. Ziva recognized the thought behind his eyes, the recognition of their past selves blending into who they were now, older people trapped in older bodies, but still the same underneath. The same minds, still hungry for each other, but now with years stretched between them.
It felt good. To still be known like this.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly. Kissing her, his hand slower.
Ziva answered without hesitation. “Whatever you want.”
One kiss at the corner of her mouth. Another at the top of her jaw. “Anything?”
And something in the way he said it made heat curl low in her stomach all over again.
Ziva’s eyes fluttered shut. Her heart raced, and she licked her lips, anticipating it.
She breathed, unevenly, then answered.
“Don’t be gentle.”
And Tony groaned then, laughing under his breath before kissing her hard on the mouth again. One hand squeezed her waist while the other slipped between her legs in a quick touch before he pulled it back. He dragged her hips closer to the edge of the table, stepping between her legs, eyelids heavy and breathing rough now. Then he looked at her and smiled, so devilishly handsome that Ziva immediately questioned whether asking him that had been a wise decision at all.
She answered him, smiling too.
And maybe that was what finally got to him, because Tony lost the last bit of patience he had left. He was halfway through pulling at her clothes, her trousers ending up tangled around her ankles, when he suddenly sped up, doing a rushed, uneven job of it before leaning over her again almost immediately.
He was not smiling anymore.
He was breathing hard now, heavy and concentrated, eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made Ziva’s stomach tighten.
“Oh, you. You—” and kissed her, as if it could explain his words.
He did not bother taking off the rest of his clothes. The urgency of it had already taken over completely. She could feel him pressed tightly against her thigh, hard and heavy, while his hand shifted the fabric of her panties aside, and the realization of how badly they both wanted this made her feel weak. But even then, as if he could not resist drawing every possible reaction out of her first, Tony touched her again in a quick, deliberate motion that made Ziva jolt against him instantly, her hips reacting before she could stop them.
A rough breath escaped him at the sight of it, his forehead dropping briefly against hers like he was fighting to hold onto the last scraps of control.
“Tony,” she called, desperate.
“Can I just—”
He meant just going for it. But she could not care. She could not care about caution, or slowing down, or anything else that would delay this any further.
“Yes,” she answered urgently.
“Fuck.”
He only pulled her panties to the side, a thumb easing him in. She gasped into his mouth as he pressed forward, the thick presence of him sliding past her folds, inch by inch, stretching her open, almost excruciatingly slow. But it felt exhilarating, then, to feel him fill her completely, and Ziva’s fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as he buried himself to the hilt.
Tony followed her request. He was not gentle. He only let her have a brief pause, buried deep inside her, before he pulled back, almost all the way out, leaving just the tip teasing her entrance. And Ziva squirmed underneath him, craving for more. But when her hips bucked, asking for it, he gave it to her—a hard, driving thrust that slapped against her, the table shuddering beneath them.
It was not, but that felt like the beginning of the end. Her heart hammered inside her chest, her breath breaking into harsh sounds between them, when Tony’s hand found the nape of her neck. And she realized then, with a sharp thrill she could not even describe, that he was holding her there to keep her from hitting her head against the table with the force of him.
Then he set a rhythm, deep and steady, each movement pushing the air from her lungs in a soft moan. Her legs wrapped higher around his waist, opening herself wider for him, and he moved faster, the wet sounds of their bodies meeting filling the room. It felt incredible then, to feel him skin against skin. Both panting. Ziva knew they had never exactly been examples of protection, but they had done this enough times to trust it. And nothing could really compare to the feeling of him on top of her, all of him connected to her completely.
Tony breathed hard against her ear before pressing a soft kiss to her cheekbone. Then, without warning, he picked up his pace, and when Ziva let out a moan that gave away exactly how much she was enjoying it, he caught her mouth with his immediately, almost like he was trying to swallow the noise before it escaped into the room. His other hand slipped between their bodies, and that was what finally shattered whatever control she still had left. It was too much, too good, the combination of him moving against her while still somehow paying attention to every reaction she gave him, chasing her pleasure with the kind of focus that should have been illegal.
And somehow, even through all the urgency of it, he was still careful with her in strange little ways. He barely even moved the fabric aside properly. He simply made it work, impatient and desperate and entirely intent on making her come apart beneath him.
It was intoxicating, doing this while still nearly fully clothed, all urgency and impatience and stolen touches. She knew he felt it too, because Tony kept letting out those low, involuntary groans against her skin, his teeth scraping lightly along the side of her face. Then, almost like he could no longer help himself, his hand left the back of her head and slid to her neck instead, fingers wrapping around it gently, possessively, like he needed to hold onto her somehow while he lost himself in it. He looked at her for a moment, searching for any sign she didn’t want it that way, but Ziva only nodded, reassuring him.
This was not that common. And as he leaned back slightly, keeping her legs wrapped around him while he thrusted into her with purpose, Ziva found herself startled by how much she liked it. Him taking control like this. Him holding her so firmly, so confidently, while her eyelids dropped and her mouth fell open from the sheer intensity of it. The table was just the right height for it, allowing him to stay standing between her legs while keeping her exactly where he wanted her, and the realization of how easily he had taken over the entire situation sent another wave of heat through her. And absurdly, somewhere through all of it, Ziva wondered whether Tony would ever look at this table the same way again during an ordinary workday, or if his mind would always come back to this moment instead.
She answered his every thrust, and she noticed the exact moment Tony reacted to it strongly enough to tighten his hand at her throat, still gentle, but firmer now. And all Ziva could think was that he needed to take control like this more often. Far more often. Their eyes met again, and another sound escaped her before she could stop it. Tony answered immediately, touching her with messy urgency that matched the rest of them by now, while Ziva could do nothing except cling to him, gripping his shoulders, pulling at his hair, and letting herself fall completely into him.
He was breathing harder now. Ziva supposed that, as much as she enjoyed being on the receiving end of all this pleasure, she had stretched his restraint for so long that she genuinely did not know how he was still holding himself together. But he was close now. She could feel it. She felt it in the way his movements grew rougher, more desperate. In the way he kept looking away from her, almost like meeting her eyes directly would push him over too soon. And still, even now, he kept chasing her pleasure before his own, delaying himself in that maddeningly controlled way only Tony could manage.
It was not surprising that she was close too. Ziva barely knew where to hold anymore, the table beneath her, his shirt twisted in her fists, his arms tense under her hands. Everything had blurred together into heat and movement and the overwhelming feeling of him surrounding her completely.
The rhythm faltered. Just a fraction, just enough for Ziva to feel it—a hitch in his hips, a sharp inhale against her ear. She knew that shift. He was losing the battle. She dug her heels into his lower back, pulling him deeper, and felt the answering tremor run through his thighs. His hand at her throat tightened another degree—not pain, just pressure, a possessive anchor that made her clench around him. And she heard him curse, low and ragged, the word lost against the skin of her neck.
"Anthony," she breathed, and it came out like a command. Like a plea.
He answered by pulling her closer and moving against her harder, faster, the table squealing beneath them. At the continuous moans escaping her, his hand covered her mouth, and Ziva looked up at him through blurred vision, their eyes locking.
He looked just as helpless as she felt. Just as lost in it.
And God, it was too hot.
She knew then that he was gone too.
The wet slap of their bodies filled the room, obscene and urgent. Ziva felt the coil winding tighter in her belly, felt the heat spreading from her core outward until her toes curled and her back arched off the wood. She was close, so close, but she wanted to feel him break first.
He didn't. Not yet.
She knew what he was waiting for.
Instead, Tony kept looking at her, his eyes dark and blown, pupils huge. He was sweating, a bead trailing down his temple. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping. He took his hand out of her face, holding her throat again.
And then he lowered his mouth to hers without kissing, just breathing against her lips, panting.
"Come for me," he said, the words rough, almost broken. "Come on, Ziva. Now."
She wanted to argue, to make him wait, to draw it out—but her body had no patience for games anymore. The sound of his voice, the command in it, the way he was barely holding on—it snapped the thread.
The orgasm hit her like a wave slamming into shore.
Her back bowed, her cry sharp and raw, her inner walls clamping around him in rhythmic, pulsing spasms. She heard herself gasp his name, felt her fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. The world went hazy at the edges, all sensation focused on the sweet, relentless grip of her climax around him.
Tony groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into hers. He drove into her once, twice more, and then he was coming—his hips grinding against hers as he emptied himself. His hand at her throat went slack, sliding to her shoulder as he collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath ragged and hot.
The table stopped shaking. The room filled with the sound of their panting, the slick whisper of skin against skin as they both trembled. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Ziva felt him still half-hard, still deep inside her, his weight pressing her into the wood. She let her legs fall from his waist, let her arms go limp. Her mind was a pleasant blank, filled only with the thrum of afterglow. Then Tony shifted, pulling out slowly, the loss of him a sudden cool emptiness. But his hand stayed on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the damp skin.
He looked down at her—at the mess they'd made on the table, at her spread legs, at the flush blooming across her neck—and let out a low, incredulous laugh.
"I'm never going to look at a briefing the same way again," he said, his voice hoarse.
Ziva smiled, lazy and satisfied. "Good."
Then he kissed her. Slower this time, finally regaining his breath. Only for his head to fall onto her chest a moment later, as if the last hour had drained every ounce of energy from him, and Ziva let out a soft chuckle, kissing the top of his head. He held onto her there, arms wrapping around her waist, and she could feel him moving gently with every rise and fall of her breathing, his head shifting against her with each inhale.
“You’re too hot. Jeez.” And she understood exactly what he meant. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “Please come visit me at work every day.”
Ziva laughed softly, still breathless. “Thank you for such a warm welcome.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He pulled back just enough to look at her properly, completely satisfied now, eyes still dark with the aftermath of everything between them. “I’ve had fantasies about this exact situation since I was fifteen.”
“Well. Dreams do come true.”
And she could only laugh after that, caught by the laughter lingering in his eyes, happy just to be there with him, tangled together and having this much fun.
But then Tony looked at her differently, like the words had settled somewhere deeper than the joke itself. As if he had suddenly heard another meaning in them entirely.
As if the real dream was not what they had just done, but simply this. Her there with him, in his arms.
He leaned over to kiss her again, soft and unhurried this time, like simply holding her there was enough for him now. And Ziva kissed him back just as slowly, completely satisfied, grateful for all of it—for the laughter, the madness of the morning, and most of all for him.
He pulled back just enough to let her breathe, and when he finally stood, stretching his back with a groan, they both dissolved into laughter at the complete state of the office around them. Tony picked his tie up from the floor and tried to use it to clean her up, which only made Ziva laugh harder before she spotted a box of tissues nearby. They took turns fixing themselves, straightening clothes and attempting to regain some dignity, though every time she looked up, she caught him staring at her again. And somehow, impossibly, she still found herself blushing under his attention. Even after all these years. After decades of knowing this man.
Eventually they were both dressed again, more or less presentable, and Tony looked at her with a suspiciously innocent expression that immediately made her narrow her eyes. There was unmistakable mischief sitting behind it.
Then he grinned. And somehow, impossibly, the grin only widened. Too wide.
Not a good sign.
“What?” she asked, watching him fail miserably at hiding it.
Tony shrugged, trying for casual and not succeeding at all. Ziva dreaded it.
“I think now is probably a good time to tell you there’s a camera in here.”
A chill ran down her spine. He could not stop grinning.
“What?”
And simply the thought of everything being recorded, every reckless thing they had just done now preserved somewhere inside a computer forever, made Ziva curl inward with immediate protest, heat rushing to her face in pure embarrassment. Shit. Shit-shit-shit. She should have seen it coming. This was the private office of a security firm, after all. But somehow she had not even thought to look for a camera, and the realization alone made her skin crawl.
It was always him getting past her defenses, making her forget old habits simply because of how safe she felt with him.
“Relax.” Tony walked toward her, resting a reassuring hand against her waist. “Only I have access to it. No chance I’m letting anybody else see this but me.”
“That does not actually comfort me.”
Even with him pulling her closer, Ziva kept scanning the room, eyes darting across the shelves, the vents, the corners of the furniture, searching for any sign of where the camera could possibly be hidden. But there was nothing obvious. Nothing she could immediately clock and destroy whatever proof that anything happened. And the fact that she had missed it entirely made irritation curl inside her. She hated being caught off guard. Especially by him.
“You’re not finding it, by the way,” Tony said with a laugh, watching her spiral with far too much enjoyment.
Ziva slowly turned to look at him.
“I’m going to kill you.” But the threat fell apart at the sight of the way he was smiling at her.
Tony’s grin only widened. “You can try.” He squeezed her waist again, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Do not tempt me.” She pointed a finger at his face in warning, though the effect was weakened slightly by the flush still lingering on her cheeks. Then, making one final attempt at reason, she tilted her head and looked directly into his eyes. “Would it help if I asked you to destroy the footage?”
But she already knew the answer. This was the same man who still kept old bikini photos of her from Los Angeles years ago like treasured artifacts.
Tony only watched her with obvious delight, far too entertained by how helpless she was against him sometimes. He pulled her back against him by the waist, fitting their bodies together again automatically.
“What if I want to revisit the memory?” he asked, laughing softly. Not answering her in the end.
Ziva looked at him for a long second before rolling her eyes, though she could already feel herself smiling anyway. Maybe he was right, maybe part of her also wanted to revisit that memory.
Yes. Fighting Tony DiNozzo’s charm had always been a losing battle.
She felt her arms wrap around his shoulders almost instinctively, searching for him the way she always did.
“Hm.” Ziva hummed softly before pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Then I suppose you will need to make room for me in your busy CEO schedule.”
He laughed at that, amused in a way that made his whole face soften.
“CEO? That’s the part of this getting to you?”
It was. She would never admit it out loud, though.
Ziva scoffed quietly. “You are wearing a tailored suit in a glass office, Tony. Please, be serious.”
That only made him smile wider, catching the truth in her expression anyway. He had always been too good at that—reading her.
“Ziva David,” he said warmly, his voice deep and with a gleam in his eyes that made her toes curl. “You like seeing me in charge.”
And it was true. She would never admit it out loud, but they both knew it already. So instead, she only gave him a look.
“I like seeing you competent.”
“That… sounded dangerously sincere.”
“Do not ruin it.” But she was glad the truth had slipped out anyway.
For a moment she simply stayed there in his arms, letting herself really look at him, at where they were now and who they had become. And despite everything life had done to them, there was still something almost unbelievable about finding themselves there together.
A softer smile pulled at her mouth. “I like seeing you become the man you were supposed to be.”
Something in Tony’s expression shifted at that. He looked at her quietly for a moment, taking in the sincerity behind the words, before his arms tightened around her waist and he pulled himself closer.
“And here I thought the privacy glass was going to be the highlight of my morning.”
Ziva laughed softly. Happy. Pleased. “It was not?”
His eyes sparkled at that, the smile never leaving his face. With him, everything was fun, and everything was easy. And maybe that was what she loved most about it in the end, how easily he turned even madness into something joyful. Always had.
Always.
Claudette really tried not to stare at the doors of her boss’s office, but it was difficult when she could make a fairly educated guess about what was happening behind them. She knew the meeting had gone well, at least. One of the client’s associates had already reached out asking for the contract to be finalized and signed.
So she stayed planted at her desk, pretending to focus entirely on her work while quietly policing the entire floor at the same time. Every employee who wandered too close to Tony’s office received an immediate glare sharp enough to send them walking the other direction again. Half her attention stayed on the paperwork in front of her, but the other half remained fixed on that office door, hyperaware of every sound, every passing footstep, every suspicious pause nearby.
If anyone interrupted them now, Claudette was prepared to commit a small crime about it.
As if proving her hypervigilance had a purpose, one of the IT engineers wandered past the office a moment later. Jeff. The one who talked too much.
He carried a folder under his arm that Claudette already knew contained a problem that absolutely could have been solved over email. But after spending an entire week arriving late because he had been partying too hard, Jeff had suddenly developed a deep interest in being seen near Tony looking hardworking and proactive.
She intercepted him the second he reached the doors, his hand already halfway raised to knock himself in.
“Sorry, he’s busy,” Claudette said quickly, a little too quickly, adrenaline spiking at the thought of anyone interrupting whatever was happening in there.
Jeff paused, looking at her with mild suspicion.
And Claudette thought about the look she had seen Tony give Ziva earlier, eyes impossibly attentive, soft in a way he rarely let himself be in public, and so obviously excited to finally have her there with him, inside this life he had built.
Tony did not share much of that history openly, but through Sophie, Claudette had gathered pieces of the truth over time. Who Ziva was. What they had survived to find their way back to each other. How much grief and distance and almosts had marked the path that led them there. And it was difficult to even fully understand it. To imagine loving someone so permanently that, after everything, you still believed they would come back to you someday.
And maybe that was why Claudette cared so much now. Because the look on Tony’s face earlier, the quiet happiness and careful wonder of someone finally standing inside a moment he had wanted for years, something he had dreamed about and held onto without much reassurance it would ever happen, had been enough to move her. Enough to make her determined to protect it for just a little while longer.
God knew happiness had been rare enough in him during those first two years she had worked there.
As if answering her thoughts directly, a loud burst of laughter echoed from inside the office, muffled by the walls but unmistakably Ziva’s.
And Claudette realized then that they both deserved this too. The laughter. The ease of it. The happiness.
“For how long?” Jeff asked, though his hand had already fallen away from the door.
Claudette glanced once toward the closed office, where faint laughter still slipped through the walls every now and then.
Then she smiled to herself, deeply pleased by it all.
“Hopefully,” she said. “For a very long time.”