Alright, so listen… I still can’t believe this actually happened.

I own a B2B company, right? We supply a few of the bigger firms in the industry, so every November/December I get invited to a handful of their year-end functions. Free booze, networking, the usual forced cheer. This one was at a rooftop venue overlooking the Sandton skyline, fairy lights everywhere, open bar, clients and partners mixing like they actually liked each other.

I was already two whiskeys deep when I saw her by the bar.

Black silk dress, low-cut, clinging to every single curve. She wasn’t from the host company—maybe another supplier, maybe a plus-one, I didn’t care. Our eyes met and that was it. No polite small talk. Just pure heat.

I walked over, handed her a drink without asking, and said something like, “You’re not from the marketing team.” She smirked and answered, “I’m not from any team that matters tonight.” Fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away.

We ended up on the far side of the terrace, away from the main crowd. Cold air, city lights, music thumping through the glass doors behind us. Nobody else was out there yet. She turned, back against the railing, and I boxed her in. The kiss was instant—hungry, messy, whiskey on both our tongues. My hand went under her dress like it had a mind of its own. Found lace already soaked. I pushed it aside and slid two fingers into her, slow at first, then deeper, curling while my thumb worked her clit.

She moaned right into my mouth and whispered, “Right here?”

I bit her lip and said, “Right fucking here.”

She didn’t argue. Just reached for my belt, yanked it open, and freed my cock. Hard as hell already. She stroked me once, guided me between her thighs, and I lifted her up. Legs around my waist. One hard thrust and I was buried inside her, balls-deep.

I fucked her against that railing like the world was ending. Deep, rough strokes. Metal digging into her back, her nails digging into my shoulders. She came first—clenched so tight around me I almost lost it—thighs shaking, that broken little moan in my ear. I kept going, rubbing her clit until she came again, even harder, wetter. Only then did I bury myself deep and empty everything into her.

We stayed locked together for a minute, breathing hard. Then I set her down. She fixed her dress with shaky hands. I tucked myself away.

No names. No numbers. Nothing.

I just leaned in and muttered, “Merry Christmas,” against her ear.

She gave me this wicked little smile and walked back inside first, still dripping with me. I followed a minute later like nothing happened, grabbed another drink, and went back to talking margins with some client who’d been boring me all night.

Never saw her again after that function. Not at any of the other year-end parties I got invited to, not anywhere.

But fuck… every time November/December rolls around and the invitations start landing, I still get hard thinking about how that one night ended.