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Jonas

I check my mobile phone on the nightstand.

“Still nothing from Agent Eric?” Sarah asks.

“Nothing.”

“God, I’m on pins and needles,” she says.

“So am I.”

Special Agent Eric called earlier this morning to tell us it was time to direct Kat, Josh, and Henn to start immediately transferring The Club’s money out of their accounts, but Eric hasn’t followed up with us since his early-morning call. And now, we’re both dying of anticipation. It doesn’t help that we’ve been stranded in this hotel room since last night.

“Are there still guards at our door?” Sarah asks.

“I think so.”

“Will you go check?”

I get up from the bed, taking the sheet with me to cover myself and poke my head out the door to our hotel room. 

“Hey, guys,” I say to the two guys in suits and earpieces staring at me.

“You two doing okay in there?” One of them says, stifling a smile. 

The second guy looks down at his shoes and covers his mouth, trying to hide his grin.  And that’s when I know Sarah’s loud shrieks and groans of pleasure a few moments ago were audible out here in the hallway.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Fuck it. I can’t help bragging a little bit. “Fantastic, actually.” 

The first guy smirks. “You two need anything?” 

“I’ll ask.” I poke my head back into the room. “Baby, do we need anything, these nice men at our door would like to know?”

“Some fruit, please!” Sarah calls to me. 

I poke my head back into the hallway. “The woman says we need some fruit.”

“Order whatever you want from room service,” the first guy says. “We’ll inspect it when it comes and bring it into the room ourselves.”

I’m sure the anxiety suddenly flooding me is plastered all over my face. I’m sure they’re simply being extra cautious, but is it rational to think the motherfuckers at The Club might try to fucking poison us by infiltrating this hotel’s room service? 

“Standard procedure,” the first guy adds.

“Okay. Thanks.” 

I shut the door and try my best to shake off this bizarre pressure cooker of a situation. I’m stuck in this hotel room with Sarah, after all. Which means I’m still the luckiest man alive. 

When I reach the bed, I crawl on top of Sarah and hover over her with my forearms resting on either side of her head. “My baby wants some reinforcements brought in, huh?” 

She looks utterly confused. “Huh? I asked for fruit.”

“Like I said, reinforcements. My banana and nuts aren’t enough for you?”

She giggles at my silly joke. “Don’t worry, your banana and nuts are still the main ingredients of the fruit salad I’ve got in mind. But I also need a few other things to make it particularly delicious.”

“Like what?”

“Well, champagne would be lovely.”

“I’m always in favor of champagne. You know I love your dirty girl.”

“And oh, how my dirty girl loves champagne.” 

I roll to the side of the bed and pick up the hotel phone. “Anything else?”

“A turkey club sandwich with extra French fries,” Sarah replies as I dial. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”

I wink at her, letting her know I’ve got her covered, as a voice greets me. “Yes, hi,” I say into the phone. “We’d like to order room service. Two turkey clubs—one without bacon but add sprouts. An extra-big side of French fries.” She grins at me. “Yes, that’s right. And a bottle of champagne.” The attendant starts rattling off their champagne selections, but I cut him off. “Whatever’s your most expensive bottle.” I cover the phone with my palm. “That was such a Josh Faraday move.”

She laughs. “Oh! A gigantic bowl of strawberries, too! Whole. Not cut up.”

It seems like a strange request to me, but, of course, I repeat it, word for word. 

“And a canister of whipped cream,” Sarah adds. “The kind you press the little wand on top and it spurts out. I’d like a full can, please. Also, a whole grapefruit. Also, uncut. And a good knife to cut it with. Please, make sure to say the grapefruit must be whole.”

Another strange request. Why the fuck doesn’t she want them to cut her fruit? Did she hear the guys in the hallway and she’s worried about someone slipping poison into her fruit?

“Tell them, Jonas,” Sarah whispers, when I’ve paused too long, so I repeat her order into the phone and end the call.

“That was an interesting order,” I say, scooting next to her on the bed. “Are you worried someone’s going to tamper with our food?”

Sarah pulls a face like that’s a ridiculous notion. “No, like I said, I’m concocting a fun little fruit salad for us.” 

Now, it’s my turn to pull a face. “And my banana and nuts are the main ingredients?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Hmm. Sounds like an interesting fruit salad.”

“It will be. And fun, too.”

“You’re concocting a ‘fun’ fruit salad?” 

“I am.”

My skin is tingling. What the hell does my baby have up her sleeve? 

“Do you think I’ll like this ‘fun’ fruit salad?” I ask.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Sarah smiles mischievously. “On whether you’ll enjoy getting the craziest, hottest blowjob of your life.”

My eyebrows ride up. “Yeah, I think the odds are high I’ll enjoy that a whole lot.” 

Sarah laughs. “Trust me. You’re going to love this.”

I run my fingertip over her naked pelvic bone. “What on earth should we do while we wait for the fruit?”

“Hmm,” she says. “Watch TV? Maybe we could catch an episode of The Golden Girls?”

I shake my head. “Not what I had in mind.” I swirl her nipple around in my mouth and run my hand lightly from one of her hips to the other and back again, skimming her OAP tattoo in between.

“We could play cards?” she whispers. Her voice is already getting husky. “Or Twenty Questions?’

“Twenty Questions.” I gently slip a finger inside her and she moans. “Ask me a question.”

“Do you want to talk about your feelings, Jonas?”

I laugh. “Nope.” My fingers slide in and out of her slick wetness.

“Do you want to talk about my feelings?”

I chuckle. “Nope.” 

She smiles. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Yes. But not yet.” I slide my wet fingers to her clit and begin massaging her in gentle circles, while kissing my way from her breast to her hipbone. When my mouth reaches her hipbone, I nip at her and she moans with arousal. “First, I want to eat you,” I murmur.

With that, I position myself between Sarah’s thighs and begin exploring her most sensitive flesh with my mouth and tongue while my fingers slide inside her and get to work on her G-spot.

Mere minutes later, she’s screaming my name and moaning at the top of her lungs. Damn, my baby’s loud when she orgasms. Holy fuck, she’s a fucking symphony, this woman. I love it. 

“That was a really good one,” she says, panting. “Oh my God, Jonas.”

There’s a singular rap on the door. “Food,” a staccato male voice says on the other side of the door. 

We look at each other and burst out laughing. 

“You gave those guys quite an earful,” I say. 

She rolls her eyes and blushes. “Oh, well. It sucks to be them.”

“I don’t think they’re complaining, baby.” 

There’s another rap on the door. “Food.”

I motion to my gigantic boner. “I’m not in any condition to go out there, baby.”

“Well, I’m not sure my legs will hold my weight,” she says. “You just reduced me to a pile of goo.”

“I’m not going out there with my cock like this. I might poke someone’s eye out.”

She laughs. “Well, we can’t have that.” She slides out of bed, grabs the sheet, and wraps it around herself. “This is perfect timing. That boner of yours will be absolutely delicious in my fruit salad.”

I watch her glide to the door, her dark hair cascading down her back, her limbs long, her skin glorious, and my body physically jolts with pleasure at the sight of her. Jesus Christ, I can’t wait to call this woman my wife. Now that I’ve got a firm idea about how I want to propose to her, I don’t want to wait to do it. 

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Sarah says to the guys in the hall. “Thanks for your concern. No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” 

A moment later, Sarah returns with a tray of food, which she places on a table before going back out again and returning with bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. “Those nice men out there are so sweet and caring,” she says sarcastically. “They wanted to know if I’m okay because they thought they heard some noises in the room.”

“Uncle Sam’s money, hard at work.”

“I guess I should take pity on them. Can you imagine if your job was sitting outside a doorway, listening to a woman have an orgasm on the other side of a wall?” 

“You say that like they’d think it’s a bad thing. I’m sure you made their day.”

She smiles wickedly. “And now I’m going to make yours, my love.” She grabs a whole grapefruit and a knife off the tray and makes a face that borders on demonic.

“Please, tell me that knife has nothing to do with this epic blowjob you’ve promised me.”

Sarah laughs. “I promise. But I won’t say the same about the grapefruit.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Intriguing.”

“Ever had a grapefruit-blowjob?”

“Can’t say that I have, no. I take it I’m about to, though?”

“You sure are.” She stares at the implements in her hands for a moment, but ultimately puts them both down. “I have to check something. I don’t want to mess this up.” She grabs her computer off the table and clicks away for a bit, before reading something on her screen. “Okay. I’ve got it.” With that, she heads to the bathroom and comes back with a thick towel and a wicked smile on her face. “Okay. You need to lie down on top of this. Apparently, this is going to get messy.”

I shoot her a “what the fuck” look.

“Just do as your told, baby,” she coos. “I get to give you whatever blowjob I want for our Twelve Days of Fellatio-Christmas, remember? Absolutely no arguments from you.”

“What number are we on?” I ask.

“Six, I think. Which means I’m still in charge. Now, lie down on the towel and tell your boner to fasten its seat belt.”

“My boner doesn’t wear a seatbelt. He likes to live on the edge.”

She chuckles. “Of course, he does. Okay, now give me a moment while I get my fruitalicious instrument of pleasure ready for you.” Once again, she picks up the grapefruit and knife at the table and gets to work. 

“You never answered me,” I say. “This blowjob involves the grapefruit only, and not the knife, right?”

“Duh.”

“I don’t think you get to say ‘duh’ in this context. There’s no ‘duh’ about a woman carving up a grapefruit for a blowjob.”

“You’re going to love it.”

She cuts off both ends of the grapefruit, hollows out a dick-sized hole through the middle of it, and strides to me on the bed. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Wordlessly, she strokes my cock for a moment, making sure I’m hard as a rock and ready for whatever comes next, and when I pass her test, she slips that grapefruit over my tip and straight down onto my shaft. 

“Whoa,” I say. The cool temperature of the fruit is electrifying, and the acidity is unnerving. Not to mention, the small hole she hollowed out in the middle of the fruit is the perfect size to create a weird sort of proxy for her pussy or mouth. “Whoa,” I say again. “This is wild.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She leans down and starts sucking me, all the while sliding the grapefruit up and down my shaft. 

“Jesus,” I mutter. “Fucking hell.”

There are no words for what I’m experiencing. The texture and pressure of the wet pulp feel uncannily like a pussy—like a cool and ridiculously wet and acidic one—and that combined with Sarah sucking on me like a champ feels bizarrely like I’m having sex and getting blown at the same time. It’s an incredible sensation. So much so, I’m sure I sound like a dying elephant right now. I grip Sarah’s hair and buck at the crazy pleasure I’m experiencing, and Sarah moans loudly as she continues working me with enthusiasm. 

When I come into her mouth with a load roar, Sarah doesn’t merely swallow my release—she sucks it out of me like she’s trying to get every last drop of a milkshake. 

Finally, Sarah pulls her head up, slides the grapefruit off me, peels herself a large opening on one side of it, and takes a big ol’ juicy bite. “And that, my hunky-monkey boyfriend,” Sarah purrs, grapefruit juice running down her chin, “is what the perverts on the internet call a ‘grapefruit-blowjob.’” 

“Please, send my hearty thanks to the perverts on the internet.”

Giggling, Sarah takes another big bite of grapefruit. “You definitely seemed to enjoy that.”

My heart is still racing. “Sarah Fucking Cruz. You’re the goddess and the muse.”

“So I’ve been told.”

And I’m going to marry you.