I had been dreading the whole night. I may have been heading to a five-star hotel, for a dinner paid for by the company I worked for, but still, six hours with my excruciatingly dull colleagues was not my idea of fun.
However, when I arrived at the restaurant, I spotted this guy who I had fancied for months. We'd been at the same place for a while and we’d never really spoken to each other. I knew who he was though – a billionaire who’d made a lot of money while he was young through a series of smart investments, including one in our company.
As soon as we arrived, we all made a beeline for the lavish bar. Henry* bought a hefty first round and stared straight into my eyes as he handed me a devastatingly strong cocktail. “Better get this inside you,” he said as he then looked me up and down. It was so cheesy, so gross and, infuriatingly, so hot.
We were escorted to the private dining room and made our way to our different ends of the 26-person table. The dinner dragged, but he and I kept locking eyes across the space. The meal was devoured, dessert spoons were clattering, and the £200-a-bottle wine was going down exceedingly well.
As those with a long commute began to make their way back home, the remaining group headed outside to sit on a huge circular sofa that surrounded an extravagant firepit. Henry, I noticed, sat directly next to me - and we still didn’t talk. I started chatting to the person on my right, he to the person on his left. As I reached forwards to pick up my wine glass from the table, Henry handed me his phone. It was open on the Notes app, which simply said, “Go to the bathroom. Now.” Heart racing, off I went.
Just after I arrived (it was a good five-minute walk through the labyrinth of the hotel) he appeared from around a different corner, marched over to me, grabbed me firmly by the waist and pushed me against the wall for a frantic, deep, electrifying kiss. As he pressed his firm body hard against mine, I could feel his erection in his trousers.
Nobody would notice if we didn’t come back, so he led me upstairs to his penthouse suite where he was staying. He lifted me up and wrapped my legs around him as we walked through the door, before he threw me onto the enormous bed, tugged my trousers off and removed his shirt to reveal a statuesque body. As I ran my hands over his taut muscles and made my way down to his crotch, he pushed me away and slammed me back down on the bed. “No,” he said. “This is all about you.”
He slowly licked his way down my body and between my legs. His tongue was hitting all the right spots, but just as I was about to come he pulled away. Before I had time to protest, he’d moved up the bed and was thrusting his fingers inside me, with his tongue now busy on my nipples.
It didn’t take long for the brink of orgasm to come back, and this time he kept going… and going… and going. I’d never experienced multiple orgasms before, but this guy wouldn’t quit, and neither would they.
We didn’t end up having penetrative sex – he really did focus on nothing but my pleasure, waves of which left my thighs physically shaking for hours afterwards. I managed to recover for our 8am meeting, where we were beacons of professionalism, despite my legs still slightly shuddering.
*Names have been changed.
This feature originally appeared in the February 2020 issue of Cosmopolitan UK.
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