Applause ripples through the room as my husband Charlie and his business partner take to the stage, cutting through the gala tables in their expensive tuxedos and smiling from ear to ear. The awards night theme music booms from several speakers above us and the cameras beam images of them on to large screens either side of the stage.

“Charlie Sheppard and Pete Mulhern... best start-up,” says the host, who wouldn’t be out of place fronting the Eurovision Song Contest in her glitzy pink dress and towering heels.

Across from me, Pete’s wife Lindsay rolls her eyes and I stifle a laugh. We both know that their already inflated egos are about to go through the roof.

--

“Charlie, this is a toast to you and me,” says Pete, swaying a little. We’re in the resident’s bar of our London hotel and it’s after midnight. “Two dreamers who came good.”

They’re both pissed and high on success. Across from me, Lindsay adjusts her sitting position and smooths down the fabric of her designer dress. It’s red and clings to her body like it’s made from acrylic paint. Her breasts are hardly contained by the lace cups and thin straps that form the top part of it.

We haven’t spoken much tonight, but we’ve communicated in other ways: a light touch here, a stolen glance there. I know we’re both thinking about the drunken kiss we shared at a similar event a few months back.

Playing second fiddle to Charlie and Pete isn’t easy, and a confessional chat over a bottle of wine in Vienna ended with our lips meeting for a few seconds. I take a long drink and enjoy the feel of my pussy tighten as I look across at her.

I’ve dressed carefully tonight, and not for Charlie’s benefit. The draped YSL dress I’m wearing barely covers my arse cheeks and cuts a deep V-shape at the front.

“Mel, did I tell you I bought the Birkin bag?” Lindsay says suddenly, leaning forward.

I’m across from her, so she bends over when she’s speaking and her breasts are almost touching the table.

“You mean I bought it,” Pete says, like a dickhead.

“Do you want to see it?” She ignores his comment and takes her hotel card out of the small clutch she’s carrying.

“You talk about it like it’s a fucking baby,” Pete says, laughing as he catches the waiter’s attention and signals for more wine.

“You girls go and talk bags or whatever,” Charlie says, with a dismissive wave. “The night’s young and we’re celebrating.”

“Thank fuck we got away,” Lindsay whispers to me as we walk towards the lifts. “I’m so wet.”

--

Her hands are on me as soon as the door closes, soft and probing. She lifts my dress up and kneels between my legs, pulling my underwear to one side and briefly flicking her tongue against my damp slit.

My mind is racing; I’ve never fucked another woman.

I turn her around and unzip the red dress, peeling it over her arse. She isn’t wearing underwear. My pussy quickens as we make our way to the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathy kisses.

“Sit on my face,” she says, lying down.

She strokes her own pussy a few times as I straddle her head. It looks so tight and neat; a perfect line cutting through soft, plump lips. I hold the headboard behind me for support and gasp with pleasure as her tongue plunges into me. She keeps it stiff and lifts her head up and down as though she’s fucking me with it.

“Fuck, Lins, don’t stop” I say, feeling close to climax after barely a few minutes.

I can hardly speak as she pushes my thighs further apart so she can go deeper. She slows the pace then, softening her tongue to explore the grooves and folds of my wet pussy. I bounce up and down a little, taking my clit out of her reach and then dipping it back towards her eager tongue, keen to make this last as long as possible.

Finally, I let myself come. She slides her tongue into me just as I do, so she can feel the waves of my orgasm. She waits a few seconds and then flicks my clit again, sending another pulse of pleasure through me. It’s immediately clear to me that she’s done this before.

I slide down her body and peel her legs apart. The sheet below is damp.

“I’ve never eaten pussy before,” I confess, positioning myself.

She groans at this, turned on at the thought.

“I’m yours to practice on,” she says, her voice a murmur.

I lower my head and slide my tongue between her lips, taking a long, slow lick from her arse to her clit. I scoop her juice out and swallow it down, enjoying the taste of her. Holding her slit apart with my fingers, I move my tongue under her hood and gently suck her, enjoying her moans and the feel of her moving against my mouth.

Her fingers are tangled in my hair and she holds my head against her, rubbing her clit into my face. I realise that she’s grinding against my mouth and nose to make herself come. Her juice is all over me now, sliding over my cheeks and forehead.

I slip my finger into her arse and she gasps with pleasure, coming a few seconds later. My tongue is lodged deep in her pussy when she climaxes and I feel every shudder ripple down my throat. I lick her walls clean, drinking her down greedily. And then I wonder to myself, why I’ve never done this before; the pleasure is next level.

Gently, I pull my finger out of her arse and dip my tongue into the space instead, pushing against the tight tunnel that surrounds it. My own pussy clenches now. Her body is an Advent calendar and I just opened Christmas day.