Disclaimer. The usual. Not my characters. I'm not clever enough to create them.

This story has a strong M rating for explicit sexual scenes. If you are under 18, or not a fan of graphic sexual descriptions, than this story is not for you.

I just want to make it very clear that I am 'Team Tiva'. But I just watched "Jack Knife" during an NCIS marathon and was inspired. Who doesn't think Ziva should have hit that? And I've been very disappointed with the men Ziva's been paired with. She's my heroine and she and Tony aren't happening at this point in the series (FYI- I'm in the process of writing a nice long Tiva piece as I am devastated with how the season finale left them). The episode "Jack Knife" happened in a time in Ziva's life when I feel Ziva needed this. And frankly, I wanted to write a hot-as-fuck sex scene with her and Damon. Somehow it turned into more than one…

"Jack Knife": The Aftermath

In case you haven't seen "Jack Knife" in the recent past, or even if you have, here's a quick recap. Even if you've seen it recently this recap focuses on the parts important to my smutty story.

Our favorite ex-Marine, Damon Werth, turns to Gibbs for help after waking up in a dumpster next to the murdered body of his close friend, former Marine Nick Heatherton. Werth and Heatherton had been drinking the night before, but Damon had blacked out and has no memory of the night's events. Damon believes that Heatherton's death is related to the shady Szwed trucking company that his friend had been working for. Heatherton had attempted to recruit Damon for his next run. Gibbs sends Ziva and Damon undercover to infiltrate and investigate the illegal trucking ring.

Ziva and Damon's connection continues to grow and he confesses how he blames himself for Heatherton's death. He demonstrates a mild episode of PTSD while in the truck's cabin with Ziva. He confides how he feels unable to escape the demons of his past. She indentifies with Damon more than she's yet prepared to admit, but gives him some advice from 'her friends who know about these things'. She encourages him that he can move forward and find the right path.

Further investigation reveals Heatherton's death not to be related to the contents of the truck he drove but rather to cover up a hit and run he witnessed. He was murdered to keep him quiet. The episode wraps up with Damon saying goodbye to the members of the team. He is going to Ohio to speak with his friend's wife and child, and to explain to them how Heatherton died as a hero and for being a Good Samaritan. Werth hugs Ziva and gives her a kiss on the cheek saying, "see you later."

Tony offers to make a few calls on Damon's behalf to help him find work in Ohio since he went to college there and still has a few connections. He offers Werth a ride, but Damon says that he'll walk. After Werth leaves, Tony noses into whether her "see you later" to Damon was meant as a goodbye or she'd see him at a later date. He's blatantly jealous, and Ziva simply leaves him to stew and doesn't answer his question.

And so our story begins…

If you knew Ziva David well, you'd be concerned with the manner in which she drove home this particular evening. She never exceeded more than 10mph over the speed limit, stilled her car for a full 5 seconds at each stop sign, graciously allowed cars to merge in front of her, and generally displayed none of the usual characteristics that defined her driving style. In general, Ziva David drove like a maniac. It had been proposed that she'd been an Eastern European cab driver in a former life, and she had the uncanny ability to empty the stomach of any passenger daring enough to ride with her. True to fact, her frantic style was the best way to avoid possible roadside ambushes and IEDs, though the threat wasn't really a problem on the streets of Washington D.C. Her final acceptance of this reality was not what tempered her driving this particular evening. Ziva was thinking. And she had a lot to process before she reached the door of her apartment. She needed the extra time.

Ziva's thoughts concentrated on one person, Damon Werth. Damon had left the NCIS building a few hours earlier, and he'd be waiting for Ziva in her apartment. Damon had shown up at Gibbs' house a few days ago in a mess of trouble. He and Ziva had gone undercover to bust an illegal trucking operation, and solve the murder of Nick Heatherton, a former marine and close friend of Damon's. Now, he would travel to Ohio to speak and console Nick's widow and child, explaining how Nick had died a hero. Damon's plan involved heading directly to the bus station for the 10+ hour ride as soon as his obligations at NCIS were completed. But Ziva wasn't going to let that happen. It had been a grueling few days of work, both to prepare and carry out their undercover mission. Last night the entire team had pulled an all-nighter. There was no way she was letting Damon endure such a long bus ride without a proper night's sleep.

Ziva had insisted Damon spend the night at her place. She'd taken her apartment key from her keychain and taped it to a sheet with written directions outlining the best route to her place. Damon was reluctant to impose of her, but Ziva wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. She'd made sure to point out to Damon that since he now had her key she wouldn't be able to get into her own apartment unless he was there to open the door. A single corner of his mouth lifted into a smile as he thanked her and accepted her offer. They both knew Ziva didn't need that key. She could pick the lock to any door in seconds. This little dance was a formality. Damon needed to politely decline, and Ziva needed to insist right back at him. The truth was that Damon wanted to spend the night at her place just as badly as Ziva wanted him to.

Ziva didn't know exactly what was in store for the two of them this evening. She knew what she wanted to happen. She hadn't advertised to any of her team that Damon would be spending the night at her place. She'd asked him in private and she knew he would keep this between them. The team would make this 'complicated'. But she hadn't flat out lied about it to any of them, unless you counted a lie of omission. Then she had lied to Tony. He'd suspected something, but he always did and he'd always been jealous of Damon. Tony was jealous of Damon's youth, his strength, his looks, and the protectiveness Gibbs exhibited over him. But most of all Tony was jealous of Damon's connection with Ziva, and the mutual attraction the two of them couldn't seem to hide since that moment they'd met. The fact that Damon had broken Tony's nose didn't do anything to help his feelings towards him.

Ziva thought back to that first time she met Damon. He'd been under investigation by NCIS and within a minute of their first encounter he'd broken Tony's nose, dislocated McGee's shoulder, and dominated Ziva in a fight, hitting her harder than she'd ever been hit before. It took Gibbs, Tony, and McGee to finally restrain him. The second he hit her Ziva's attraction to him had sparked. It hadn't been the beating that had piqued her interest. Ziva wasn't the type of woman to be attracted to an abusive man (though, sadly, she had been in the past). But Damon wasn't the abusive type. His behavior had been the result of steroid induced psychosis. He'd believed he was still in Iraq and needed to rescue a fellow Marine from their captors. Since Damon had taken the steroids by choice he was responsible for his actions, but his behavior back then wasn't a true reflection of his character, or of the man Ziva knew him to be.

Ziva's immediate attracted had been to Damon's sheer strength. His power enthralled her. He was stronger than any man she had ever encountered, and Ziva was uncontrollably attracted to that. He was also stunningly handsome, and she never tired of looking at him. But it was their connection that captivated her most of all.

During their second encounter Damon had flat lined in a hospital bed and the doctor had injected him with adrenaline. Damon, already compromised by the steroids, had been rocked through the roof by the jolt of adrenaline. He'd flipped Gibbs away and bee lined straight for Ziva, pinning her up against the wall. Damon hadn't been in control, but he hadn't hurt Ziva. He'd held her up against the wall and they'd locked eyes. It was their undeniable connection that brought Damon back from the brink in that moment. And when he'd collapsed in front of her, Ziva had held him. He was confused, hurt, and scared, and Ziva held his head and stroked him.

Over time she'd become so drawn to this man that it almost overwhelmed her. His power and his strength captivated her. A part of her longed to feel a man like him dominate her. How would it feel to let someone with so much strength take her? She'd be at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted to her and she wouldn't be able to stop him. She'd never been aroused by this idea, except with Damon. Ziva had been controlled by men before in her life and she'd hated every bit of it, but Damon was different. She wanted to be his. Despite his past Ziva recognized an innocence in Damon that drew her to him like a moth to a flame. He was so strong, yet so fragile. She felt a burning desire to both protect him, and be taken by him.

Ziva buzzed up to her apartment. Her building door immediately clicked open. When she stepped off the elevator to her floor she was hit with an intoxicating aroma. Her stomach grumbled in envy of the lucky recipient of the dish. But as she approached her apartment the aroma only grew stronger. Damon had left her door cracked and she pushed it open to the amazing smell that was, in fact, coming from her kitchen.

She actually burst into her apartment with glee. "Damon, did you cook?" she asked with giddy enthusiasm.

He met her a few steps in holding a full glass of red wine. She knew was probably grinning like a silly schoolgirl.

Damon bowed in mock formality and held the glass of wine out to her. "I did, my lady," said impersonating a knight. "It was the least I could do to acknowledge your hospitality." He smiled shyly.

"It smells incredible," she praised him in utter sincerity. "You didn't have to do this. But judging by the smell, I'm glad you did." She took the glass of wine from him with a 'thank you.'

She took in the sight of Damon before her. He had a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder and a large red stain in the center of his shirt. When he noticed her staring he explained, "I spilled a bit. And this is my last relatively clean shirt."

"I have a washer and dryer right over there." She pointed to the visible appliances.

"I didn't feel comfortable using them before asking your permission. I'm already stealing your couch for the night." He explained.

Ziva was touched by his abundance of consideration. Then she noticed Damon was barefoot, and smiled thinking that he'd taken the courtesy of removing his shoes. Damon noticed that stare too.

"I'm sorry I'm barefoot. None of my socks are even relatively clean," he confessed.

He'd neatly placed his shoes at the entrance of her apt and his rucksack was placed directly next to them.

"Let me grab you a shirt so you can throw in a load of laundry," she offered.

"Ugh Ziva. I don't think we're the same size." He stated obviously.

"I like to sleep in large men's shirts. I would offer you a pair of pants, but I am afraid I do not have any of those in your size." Ziva headed into her bedroom and returned with her largest nightshirt.

"Thank you. I'll just go throw this on." He turned to head to Ziva's bathroom.

"Damon, I have seen a man's naked torso before. You do not need to be modest with me." And truthfully, Ziva wanted a peek at what he was hiding under there.

Damon, still respectful of her femininity, turned his back to her as he pulled off his stained shirt. Ziva unabashedly stared at Damon's bare back. He had a large tattoo covering his left shoulder. It was an eagle perched on a globe. She couldn't make out the words in the banner that ran over the image while his muscles moved. Ziva secretly loved tattoos on men. Maybe because she'd grown in Israel and they weren't common there. But that tattoo on Damon's back made her purr. It moved and contorted as he moved to pull her shirt over his head. She definitely wanted to get a closer look at that tattoo later. His back was muscular and massive. Even though the shirt she offered was longer on her than a few of her dresses it still fit him snugly.

She held out her hand to take his stained shirt. "I will throw in a wash for you while you work on dinner."

"No, I can't ask you to do that."

She cocked her head and challenged him. "Unless you have got something to hide in that bag of yours," she cocked her head towards his pack, "this is a simple task that I am more than happy to do for you. Stop arguing." She scolded. He smiled and handed over his shirt. She grabbed his pack and headed to the washing machine.

"When will dinner be ready?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Oh," he rushed back into her kitchen remembering something he'd left unsupervised. "Is 20 minutes okay with you?"

"You had better be careful, Damon Werth." She warned him playfully. "I may never let you leave."

Ziva began pulling his clothes from the large pack and sorted them into separate loads. She couldn't help letting her eyes wander and watch him move around the kitchen. He stood over the stove and stirred something simmering in a pan. He lifted the collar of her shirt to his nose and inhaled her scent from the fabric, closing his eyes as a slight smile played across his lips. That simple act touched her, and she admitted to herself that she desperately wanted something to happen between them tonight.

She set the washing machine, and took a sip of her wine. If she didn't find something to do she was going to get caught ogling him.

"I am just going to wash up for dinner," she explained as she bolted to her bedroom.

Ziva ripped through her drawers looking for something flattering, yet didn't make it look like she was trying too hard. She settled on a black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, but was made of simple stretch jersey material that didn't make it look 'fancy'. Yes, this could be something she wore around the house, she assured herself. Ziva didn't have much in the sexy lingerie department. She preferred to be comfortable most of the time, but she did have a pretty matching silk set that had been a gift. She smiled and slipped into the bra and panties before pulling on the dress. She stopped in the bathroom to do a little primping, and did her best to restrain her unruly hair. She returned to her main room to see that Damon had set her dining table and was lighting a few candles.

"Where did you find a candles in this place," she laughed.

"I brought them." He flashed her a smile that could have stopped traffic. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. This dress is so comfortable. I love to wear it around the house," she lied trying to sound casual. Something about Damon Werth made the usually calm and collected Ziva feel like a giddy teenager.

"Well these are lucky walls," he joked. "Dinner's actually done, if you're ready to eat?"

"I am starving," she smiled heading towards the kitchen.

He blocked her path. "Sit." He pointed to the table. "I serve you. But I will take your wine glass."

Ziva sat at the table, and he somehow immediately leaned over her shoulder setting down a refreshed glass of wine in front of her. Then Damon brought her a plate stacked with pieces of beautifully sliced beef.

"You made this?"

He looked back her with a silent 'duh'. "This is filet mignon with a rosemary and mushroom gravy. And sides of roasted baby potatoes and green beans." Ziva looked at Damon in wonder. "I like to cook." Was his only response.

"Well you can cook for me anytime," she smiled at him. She thought she saw him blush ever so slightly, but she couldn't be sure.

Their conversation all but halted and the only sounds echoing throughout her apartment was that of silverware clinking against plates. Ziva devoured her meal and sat back in her chair in satisfaction

"Did you like it?" Damon asked tentatively.

"That was incredible." She alluded to her freshly cleared plate.

Since Ziva has inhaled her food, she finished before Damon. She placed her elbows of the table, interlaced her fingers, and rested her head on her hands to study him while he ate.

Damon finished his meal and offered her seconds, which she refused due to the simple laws of physics making adding any additional food to her already stuffed belly impossible. Damon cleared the plates and joined her at the table where they sat in comfortable silence sipping their glasses of wine.

Ziva, never one for tact, and urged by the effect the wine had in loosening her tongue suddenly blurted, "How are you not already taken?"

It took him a few moments to realize what she was referring too, another attestation to his modesty. Then he briefly paused to collect his thoughts. "People like me, people with my past, we don't get that lucky. I don't deserve it," he said sadly.

Ziva wouldn't have believed his words had she not seen the sincerity and longing in his eyes. And suddenly she understood so much more about this man. Damon hadn't always been the perfect soldier he'd molded himself to become. His own body had betrayed him, keeping him out of the Marines. And a Marine is all that he'd ever wanted to be. He'd said it was in his blood. In a cruel twist of fate it was a rare blood disorder that made the Core unable to accept him. He'd begun taking the dangerous steroids to mask his blood disorder and help turn himself into the warrior he'd dreamed of becoming. And Damon had succeeded, and excelled. He turned himself into a living super soldier, and he'd done so at the cost of his own well-being. And Ziva believed that, despite the horrors he'd been through, the health problems, the PTSD, if he could go back and do it all over again he'd do the exact same thing.

Ziva recognized a victim in Damon. A boy who'd been desperate to please his father and make him proud, just as she'd done for her own. She understood the desire that pushed above all else urging them to do anything to make their fathers proud. That included sacrificing their own life, limb, and personal happiness. They'd both done it voluntarily. Ziva has volunteered for Moussad, well that was the lie she'd take to her grave. And Damon had chosen to take the steroids. But how much of a choice had these two had when they were so young and so desperate to please? She didn't know if Damon's father was like Eli, but she sure as hell knew that Damon was like her. And she would have done anything for her father's approval.

This man sitting before her, seemingly impossibly strong and powerful, had encased himself in armor to protect his fragile heart. And Damon, just like Ziva, was haunted by a voice inside that taunted them, repeating and insisting that they didn't deserve happiness. The two of them were so similar. Haunted by their past, the guilt, the shame, the feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, self-loathing, and sometimes self-pity beat down upon them. Each of them hid behind a shell of armor. They were both skilled and lethal warriors. They weren't just good, they were great. But the same motivation drove them both, fear. They were terrified of being found out. Neither believed they deserved good. And though this fear pushed them to greatness, it was a lonely road. And the castle each had built to protect themselves was strong enough to keep all enemies out, but it was lonely inside. Safe, but lonely.

A stretch of silence passed between the two of them. They each stared into their wine glasses lost in thought, consumed by regret, haunted by the 'what ifs'. Ziva was summoning the courage to talk to Damon.

She continued to study the liquid in her glass as she started to speak. "In the truck, when I referred to the 'friends of mine who had experience with PTSD'…"

He nodded at her confirming that he remembered their conversation.

"Those friends…" she raised her eyes to meet his. "It is me." She confessed.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice caring and sincere.

"I left NCIS for awhile. I was a taken prisoner in Somalia. I was the only female in a camp of over 30 men." Red flashed across Damon's eyes. But, as soon as it appeared it was gone. He fought it back and placed his hand over hers on the table.

Ziva continued. "I was there for months. It was actually Tony who found me. Everyone thought I was long dead. He came to avenge my death." She laughed nervously. "I have not talked to anyone about this."

"Don't feel like you have to tell me anything." Damon assured her. "It would probably be easier for you to talk to Tony."

"No. Not Tony." she said adamantly. "If you do not mind, I want to tell you some of what happened. I need to tell someone, and I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I can talk to you. I have nightmares, and flashbacks, and you know what it is like. Is this too much to ask?"

Damon squeezed her hand. "Tell me anything. Please."

Ziva took a few moments to compose herself and muster her courage. "They did things to me. Things I have not admitted out loud before. None of these 'things' are in any of the official reports."

Damon squeezed her hand again.

"Obviously, they tortured me. That is pretty much a given being as I was a prisoner held for intel. But…" she paused and took another breath, "I need you to not overreact about this. It is over and done, and all the men involved are long dead."

Damon nodded in agreement.

"They raped me, over and over again." She saw the fury in Damon's eyes, but he held himself together for her. "In horrible ways. I just needed you to know that when we spoke earlier, and I gave you advice about overcoming your past, I was not making light of what you have been through and how difficult the journey to get past it can be." She needed Damon to know that she understood.

Damon grabbed her arm and pulled her sideways across his lap. "I never thought that," He assured her. Damon held her in his arms and rocked her back and forth like he would a child. She relaxed into his strong arms. The relief of finally telling someone she'd been raped lifted a painful weight off her shoulders.

"There is a lot more of my story, but I am not ready yet." She said softly.

"When you're ready, I'm here," he promised her. He placed a light kiss on her forehead.

Ziva voice suddenly took on a cheerful tone. "Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked.

"I'd love to." Damon nodded his head taking her cue and lightening the mood.

"Have you seen 'Hero'?"

"The movie about the plane?"

"No, this is a martial arts movie. I love it." She beamed.

"Then I can't wait to see it." Damon responded with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm.

Ziva smiled. She cocked her head indicating they should move to the couch.

Damon milled around her kitchen cleaning up their dinner as Ziva queued the DVD. She sat down and called for Damon to join her. He sat next to her and looped a protective arm around her. Her head fell to rest on his broad shoulder. She started the film and they watched the beautiful scenes in comfortable silence. But neither was fooled by the other's pretending to concentrate so intensely on the screen. This was the time for Damon to make his move. But Ziva worried she'd scared him off by her confession.

She turned to face him. "Did I scare you off by what I told you?"

"No," he answered immediately and intensly.

He sat staring at his hands.

"I haven't been with many women," Damon suddenly blurted.

His comment shocked Ziva to such an extent, both because of what he said and the matter-of-fact way in which he said it, that she stared back at him with an expression that combined utter perplexity and open-mouthed shock. Damon looked back at her, and the expression her face had contorted to form, and the two of them burst out laughing. To say that the ice was broken was an understatement. The ice was shattered and vaporized as the two of them laughed so hard that Ziva had to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Is that your line?" Ziva teased him once she'd composed herself to the point she was able to form words. "Because if it is, than I might believe it was true," she laughed.

Damon blushed, as he continued laughing at the ridiculousness of what he'd chosen to say in that particular moment.

"I kind of wish it was a line, but it's sadly true." Damon's cheeks were sore from how hard he'd laughed at his own lack of suave. The tension and apprehension he'd been carrying had been expelled by his laughter. He didn't realize how much weight he'd been carrying until it was lifted away. He dreaded the moment Ziva would realize he was so inexperienced. He'd only been with a few women, and only a handful of times, and the fear that he'd disappoint Ziva had been paralyzing him.

"How have you 'not been with many women'?" Ziva teased him. "Have you looked in a mirror lately. You are gorgeous." She implored to him.

"Well, the steroid induced psychosis didn't exactly send women running my way." He said sarcastically. He paused rigid. "Wait," Damon cocked his head towards Ziva, "did you just say you think I'm handsome?" he asked her with a sly smile.

"No. I said you are gorgeous." Ziva responded obviously. "It is not exactly a secret," she added sarcastically.

Damon's face turned serious and his eyes held Ziva's. "You're easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said with the sincerity that ripped at Ziva's heart. "And if that wasn't enough," he laughed nervously, "you're also the most amazing." He laughed at his own misfortune. "If I you hadn't been forced to investigated me through NCIS, I couldn't have dreamed you. But since then," he dropped his head in defeat, "you're all I dream about."

His sincerity shocked her. How could he think so highly of her when she'd just confessed how she'd been used by countless men? Her own issues made it impossible for her to comprehend his words as a truth. She needed to lighten the heavy weight their conversation had suddenly taken.

"Have you really had dreams about me?" Ziva asked coyly.

Damon sucked a breath of air in between his teeth. "Hell yea," he nodded.

"Tell me about one of them." She challenged him playfully.

Damon's face turned beet red and his eyes skirted away. They landed to study her far wall. Just the thought of Damon fantasizing about her, and maybe even touching himself thinking about her, tightened the muscles between her legs.

"Damon, tell me," she goaded at him.

His face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. His blush only increased how desperately she wanted him. And it made her bold. She swung her leg over him to straddle his lap. Damon hissed in a breath of surprise and his hands grabbed the top of her thighs. She sat facing Damon, straddling him, and looking him in the eye.

"You won't even tell me about one dream" she pouted playfully. He was so embarrassed that it was difficult for him to meet her eyes. "You really think I'm beautiful?" she asked him.

"The most beautiful." He corrected her as he finally met her gaze.

She lifted a hand to cup the side of his face. His eyes slid closed as he leaned into her touch. He slowly opened his eyes and his lips parted as he met Ziva's soft smile. She brushed her thumb back and forth across his cheek and Damon mimicked her same movement with his thumbs on her thighs. Ziva smiled deeper. She lifted her other hand to slide around the back of his neck lacing into his hair as she leaned down and pressed her lips against his. The touch was electric. They both pulled back in shock as the spark warped through their limbs. Ziva's muscled tensed and Damon's hands grabbed into the skin of her thighs. Both Ziva and Damon's eyes snapped wide at the overwhelming sensation. She leaned back into him greedily. When Ziva met his lips again, time stopped.

Every man has a distinct style of kissing. Ziva knew she did too, but since she'd never kissed herself she couldn't exactly define her personal style. But she knew that you could tell a lot about a man by how he kissed. Sometimes two people simply didn't click: teeth hit teeth, tongues worked against each other. Some men were wet kissers, others would invade your mouth with the entire length of their tongue while others barely penetrated your mouth. Some men worked a slow rhythm, others heated and quickly. And then there were the dreaded pythons, men who opened their mouths so wide you feared they were attempting to devour you. And just as each person had a unique style with which they kissed, they also had a style they preferred in their partner. This was a general rule, a sort of yin/yang concept. Ziva personally hated wet kissers, and she liked men who let her set the pace.

There was one exception to this rule, or at least Ziva believed this was the one exception. She lacked a girly clique of friends with which to gossip about sex on a regular basis. Well, she didn't exactly lack this fixture in her life as much as she would rather flay off her own skin before sitting around watching "Sex and the City" with a herd of giggling women. But, Ziva was pretty sure that there was a generally accepted exception, that type of 'kisser' that every woman coveted. And when you came across one of the men blessed with this gift, you just knew. This man was a natural. Kissing this man felt like coming home. And after your lips parted you ached for that feeling you'd never known you'd been missing. It's impossible to precisely describe this technique, words weren't sufficient, but some of it could be described. This 'natural' had lips like silk that were so soft that they cushioned your lips. The closest Ziva could think to compare the feeling was when you collapsed your head against a down pillow when your body ached with the flu. They provided the relief you desperately needed. And this 'natural' moved his mouth and tongue in a way you couldn't quite pinpoint, and could only describe as being exactly right. His tongue danced with yours as softly as his lips pressed into you. There was no official manual outlining how to kiss like this, it just was.

Kissing Damon reminded her of Puccini's stunning aria from the opera Gianni Schicchi. Kiri Te Kanawa's version was her regular go-to favorite. She'd have given anything to have heard Maria Callus sing it live. Recordings of Maria's versions were a sadly sub-par. She sang before the technology reached an impressive quality, but Ziva still loved to listen to them imagining what she might have sounded like in person. Listening to that aria was the closest to that perfect kiss, aside from the act itself.

Ziva had kissed three men with this 'natural' ability. One was a young boy back when she was sixteen. That was the moment she realized that all the hype she'd heard about sex might just be true. The second man was a mark with whom she'd briefly developed a relationship to gather intel. And the third man was Damon Werth. She met his lips and tumbled down the rabbit hole. She fell and fell without resistance. And she never hit bottom, because when she finally released his lips and pulled back his eyes hypnotized her and she continued to fall. If not for a sudden overwhelming urge that flipped her stomach in anticipation, she'd never have stopped kissing him. But she wanted so badly to do this. She sat back on Damon's thighs.

"I have just got to do one thing," she told Damon as she pushed herself up from his lap.

As she turned to walk away he grabbed her wrist. "Ziva, I'm sorry. I told you I really have no experience."

The hurt on his face almost turned her back to comfort him. Instead, she smiled. "Just sit. There is something I want to share with you."

She waked across the room. Clicked a few times of her laptop, and 'O Mio Babbino Caro' echoed through the room. She returned to straddle him again. She didn't kiss him yet. She pulled her torso against his, wrapped her arms around his neck, and nestled her head into the sensitive crook of her neck.

"This is how it feels to kiss you," she whispered in his ear. And she held him while the aria pulsed.

Ziva didn't know how Damon would respond to the music. Opera is a very personal experience and everyone feels the music differently. She had no idea if Damon had ever heard one before. She held her breath and she pressed against him anxious as to how he would respond. Her heart swelled when he wrapped her arms around her body, and squeezed her tightly inhaling her scent deeply from her neck as the aria increased in intensity. At each high note the soprano hit he'd grip her and press his lips into her neck. When the aria started it's ascent Ziva started moving her lips on his neck. She increased her intensity as it escalated into its magnificent height. She felt this so deeply and Damon's response increased her pleasure. And after the soprano's more intense crescendo, Ziva leaned back from Damon and guided his shirt over his head. She still had the beautiful softening ending of the song that played perfect foil to the sight in front of her. Beauty like this wasn't common in this world, and Ziva had experienced enough of its horrors to fully appreciate these moments of beauty.

And Damon truly was a thing of beauty. He was unworldly. Had she seen him in a magazine ad, the only other place she'd seen torsos like this, she wouldn't have been impressed. But with him she could appreciate the lines that strung him together. Damon was beautiful because his sculpted form was heroic. He'd used the muscles of his stomach, which clenched and dipped in deep ravines as she ran her fingers across them, to save lives. She ran her fingertips across the muscles that he'd used to fight off his torturer in Iraq. She ran her fingernails over his shoulders and down the lines of his arms. He'd used these arms to lift his injured fellow Marines over his strong shoulders to carry them to safety. This was form as it was meant to be. Form that followed function. The crisp contours of his stomach, the clear definition of his pecks, the incredible construction of his arms were a beautiful study in human form, and on him they embodied the perfect form for the intended function. Ziva was mesmerized as his muscles twitched as her fingertips skimmed across. This was a true man. Stunningly beautiful not for vanity, but as a warrior. This body, on this man, she longed to have dominate her. She wanted him to hold her down as he slammed into her. She'd never longed to be dominated like this before. She needed this. But only from him.

She didn't know how long since the aria ended. Music still vibrated through her apartment as the album of arias played on. Ziva leaned down and kissed Damon's neck. She skimmed her teeth across his collarbone. She needed to taste the skin of his chest. She pushed herself from his lap and moved to kneel between his legs.

"No." He placed his hand beneath her chin and pulled her hack up to him. "I want to touch you first."

Ziva smiled and settled back into his lap. She desperately wanted to grind against the erection straining his jeans, but she sensed he wanted to move slowly. Ziva hooked her fingers under the hem of her dress and lifted it clean off her body. Damon's hands moved to her sides to gently hold her. Ziva couldn't wait any longer. She urged him on by rocking her hips to press against the bulge in his pants. He gripped her sides tighter and skipped a few breaths. His hands began to explore her stomach and then her back. Ziva reached behind her and unhooked her bra, pulled it to off, and threw it off to the side. She has small breasts, but the way Damon looked at her made her feel beautiful. She took one of his hands and guided it to cup her. He followed doing the same with the other. Ziva rocked forward and arched her back into his touch. Damon gave her a questioning stare and she understood. She took his finger and guided it to her nipple. It arched to a tight peak under his touch.

The moment Damon started his exploration of her nipples was the moment she realized he was a sexual prodigy. That, or he lied to her about how many women he'd been with, and Ziva trusted his words.

He studied her face, and responded to the slightest sound or movement she made as he worked his touch on her. They'd barely started and she was already becoming completely wonton and uninhibited. He flashed his eyes from her breasts to her eyes and parted his lips questioningly. She panted and pulled his face to her breast. She rocked and arched into him uncontrollably and threw her head back as those perfect lips closed around her teased nipple.

"Ahhhh," Ziva yelled, louder than she'd meant to as he teethed and sucked her breast. He was so creative. Was he artistic? Maybe he could paint? Her thoughts roamed for a few seconds before pleasure ripped her back to the now. He sucked and pulled back leaving her nipple wet, then blew a cool breath onto it before moving to her other breast. Ziva was hanging on to a sliver of control as she started to whimper.

"Ziva what do you want?" He asked her.

She pressed back off his lap to stand in front of him. She pulled the elastic of her silk panties from her hips and dropped them to the floor. She stepped free of them and climbed back onto Damon's lap.

"Please show me what you want." Damon asked.

Ziva smiled taking his hand and guiding it between her legs. She moved it up and down her lips.

"You're wet," he breathed.

"That is because I want you."

Ziva pressed her hand against his and guided one of his fingers into her. Her body spasmed at the feeling of him penetrating her and she cried out. She only had to guide him a few times before he smiled and took over pushing it and out of her on his own. He watched her closely and studied which of his movements she responded to, and he was a quick study. Ziva rode his finger and her breathing became heavy.

"Please tell me what you like." Damon asked.

"Deeper Damon," she begged.

He gave her what she asked for and thrust his finger deep inside. Ziva yelled out as Damon hit the perfect spot.

"Damon there! Right there. Don't stop." She rode his finger.

"I want another one. Put another finger into me," she panted.

Ziva was tight and Damon looked at her questioningly when inserting two of his fingers was met with resistance.

"Push them into me." She commanded.

She signed in pleasure when he thrust two of his fingers into her. He was still studying each noise she made and which of his movements registered pleasure on her face.

"What else do you want?"

She took his other hand and placed it on her clit and moved it to rub her there. He caught on in seconds, and Ziva collapsed her head onto his shoulder unable to take the sensation.

She panted into his ear. "Right there. Right there. Don't stop. Harder please. Faster." She begged.

Ziva couldn't take much more of his perfect assault and she hit an earth shattering orgasm in his arms. She pushed herself back from his shoulder so he could watch her come. She screamed his name, as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body spasmed over and over and Damon's looked back at her in wonder. His eyes flashed down to his hands between her legs as her muscles contracted around his fingers. This orgasm wouldn't stop. It went on and on even after Ziva collapsed against his chest. She continued to jerk and clamp down on his fingers that he held deep inside her. It took her forever to calm her breath back to a reasonable pace. Finally, her body relaxed and she sagged against him.

Suddenly, Damon's hands resumed their assault with the intensity that had driven her over the edge. She screamed as another orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks. This one went on longer than the first, and she jerked and contracted with pleasure bordering on pain. When this one finally passed she sat shaking in his arms. He withdrew his fingers and held her tight against him stroking her hair and whispering into her ear about how beautiful she was. When she gained the equilibrium to control her own body, she pressed back and flashed him a smile.

"Was that ok?" he asked her.

She threw her head back and bellowed a quick laugh. She locked eyes with him and grabbed his face between her palms. "Are you kidding? That was incredible!" she beamed at him.

Damon's face broke into a stunning smile. Had she ever seen him smile before? Certainly not like this. His eyes crinkled as his lips turned up to reveal perfect set of white teeth. Of course Damon was born with a teeth others paid thousands for. She knew it was natural. Damon wouldn't bother to fix his teeth, not that he needed it. He wasn't vain like that. And she'd known he'd had dimples. But she wasn't prepared for her mouth to drop open at the sheer beauty of them. She had to make him smile like this more often. It made the world a more beautiful place.

"Ziva, you never looked more lovely." She was flushed and still high from her orgasm. "What else do you need?"

Ziva's hand still held Damon's head firmly between her palms. "I need something immediately," she tried to sound commanding and official. "We need to go to my bedroom, now." She broke into a smile and pecked him on the lips.