Disclaimer: I own nothing.
His Whiskey
Chapter 4
Michael pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and killed the engine. His heart rate had been increasing exponentially since he left the bar with Ziva, and now he felt the overwhelming urge to quell the thirst he had for her. He waited anxiously as she unbuckled her seat belt and then he leaned across the middle consul of his car and claimed her lips in a frantic kiss. His quick movement would have surprised any other woman, but not Ziva. She responded in kind, giving him the heat he so desperately needed. When they finally pulled away from each other he felt dizzy with the single minded goal to get her upstairs.
Michael unlocked the doors and stepped outside. The cool night air hit his feverish skin with a jolt. He could smell rain on the wind and feel the heavy energy that came before a storm. He pulled Ziva into the building, enjoying the foreign feeling of her calloused fingers on the back of his hand. As they rode the elevator up to his forth floor condo Michael took Ziva in his arms and kissed her neck, nipping at the creamy skin she bared to him.
"Michael," she warned quietly as the elevator came to a halt. He pulled away slowly, finding a sly smile on her lips that made him want to take her right there. Instead, he pulled the keys from his pocket and fit them into the lock to his door, smiling back at her as she leaded against the wall.
"Here we are," he said, turning on the lights in his condo. Warm light flooded the room, revealing a comfortable living room and small kitchen.
"Very nice," Ziva said in that infuriatingly sexy accent. She walked up to a picture of him and Devon that hung on the living room wall. There was no doubt in his mind that Ziva knew about his feelings for Devon.
"You look happy," she said simply. Michael couldn't detect resentment in her tone, and he wondered why she had agreed to come home with him unless she needed the escape as much as he did.
"I was happy," he said, glancing at the picture of him and Devon sitting in a pile of fall leaves and laughing at the camera. He put his arms against the wall on either side of Ziva and leaned into her back.
"But right now, all I can think about is you," Michael whispered in her ear. Ziva's eyes became impossibly darker as they met his. He used his right hand to reach across her shoulders and pull the riotous curls from her neck. He pressed his lips to the soft point behind her ear.
"I've wanted you since the moment I saw you," he admitted softly to her skin.
"You cannot possibly have been encouraged by me," Ziva answered, her head falling back on to his shoulder.
"Temptress," he accused.
Ziva turned to face him, her eyes sparkling and her lips rearranging themselves into what he had come to know as her teasing smile. Those chocolate eyes dared him to come closer. Michael licked his lips and pressed his forehead to hers, feeling his desire grow as she looked at him darkly. Ziva leaned forward until her lips were a breath away from his, drawing an unintentional moan from him; she looked satisfied at his reaction to her.
Michael could feel the last of his self-control slip away at the look on her face. He pushed her roughly against the wall and lifted her arms above her head, pinning her wrists together with one of his hands. Surging forwards, he attacked her mouth. She tasted like heat and promise and oblivion. He pulled her down the hallway and into his bedroom without relinquishing control of her lips. Michael let his fingers slip down the buttons of her shirt, tossing it to the corner of his bedroom. He groaned at what he saw and the rest of their clothes soon joined her shirt on the floor.