NCIS/Crossing Jordan: Tony/Jordan; Rated R
He had been at the bar for ten minutes before he spotted her, sitting at a table in Luigi's, half obscured by the dark lighting.
He picked up his drink and walked over. "Hi," he said. She didn't even look up. "I'm Tony, Anthony DiNozzo, actually." Still no response.
He pulled out the other chair and sat down. "Do you live in DC, or are you here on business?" No one came for pleasure except hordes of middle school students on class trips. He kept trying. "I see you like the marinara," he commented with a nod at her plate of pasta. "It's my favorite, other than pizza, of course."
The brunette finally raised her head, and he got the full force of her piercing gaze. "Let's cut the bullshit. You're trying to pick me up, hoping you'll get lucky tonight, right?"
Tony was at a loss for words -- almost. "Well, when you put it like that -"
"Meet me in the bathroom." She got up and headed toward the restrooms.
Tony shook his head a couple of times, as if to clear away non-existent cobwebs. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right. However much of a ladies man he might be, this was a first for him.
He gave her two minutes, popped a breath strip, smoothed back his hair and followed her.
She grabbed him before the door had closed completely behind him and fumbled for the belt at his waist. "Don't I even get to know your name?" he half-joked.
"Shut up and fuck me," she growled.
So the no-name-brunette-hottie with the penchant for dirty talk wanted it rough? Well, that worked for him.
Tony grabbed her by the arms and shoved her back against the bathroom wall, not caring that anyone could walk in at any moment. His lips ground against hers.
She gave a growl of approval, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, grabbing and pulling at his shirt. He pulled back long enough to slide down the zipper on his pants, before plundering her mouth once more.
He was already hard, and he reached inside his boxers, gripped his cock with one hand, trying to get it into position.
She put her hand over his. "I'm not wet yet."
Tony looked about to argue, but her eyes flashed fire.
Getting the hint, Tony knelt in front of her and tugged down her jeans, panties and all. The hair on her mound was curly and as dark as onyx, and he dove right in. She spread her legs apart as he held her lips open with one hand and started licking her clit--quick, furious licks designed to make her come, and quickly.
She moaned and tossed her head from side to side, her fingers tugging at his hair.
Using his other hand, Tony inserted two fingers into her warm slit. Moisture clung to his fingers, and he knew she was ready. He stood up and bent his knees slightly, positioning his cock at her entrance. Without preamble, he plunged into her.
She gasped and clutched him around the shoulders. Tony locked his hands under her butt and lifted her up just a bit: their height was almost the same and it didn't take much to get her into a good position.
There was nothing slow or gentle about the sex. He pounded into her, over and over again, never varying the rhythm or intensity. He had a feeling it was what she needed, anything less and she'd push him away, walk out the door.
She came in an avalanche of moans and kisses, her nails making half-moons in his shoulder blades. He followed her seconds later, his orgasm coming upon him out of the ether.
Breathing heavily, she wouldn't meet his eyes as she pushed him out of her and reached to pull her underwear and jeans back up.
He tucked everything back into his pants and zipped up, fumbling for the belt. He felt like he had to say something, anything. "Can I--"
She put her fingers to his lips, finally looking at him again. "Don't say something stupid and ruin it. You wanted to get laid, and I needed to forget. If even for just a few minutes, I thank you for that." She grabbed his cheeks tenderly and bent his head down to plant a kiss on his forehead. "The name's Jordan." She smiled crookedly. "And no you can't have my phone number, and if you follow me out, I'll shoot you."
He waited for a few minutes then followed her out of the restroom. Her seat was empty, the discarded marinara and glass of wine the only evidence she'd ever been there.