Nobody had heard from him for five years. Never far from the front pages, his self-inflicted exile fuelled intense media speculation. Ultimately, even that faded, his shrinking column inches relegated to Daily Mail clickbait articles or opinion pieces reminiscing his charitable work and many books. It seemed the world had forever lost the generosity and spark of one of the most eminent billionaires.

Until today.

I was meeting him. A dream come true. Apprehension and excitement didn't even come close.

The wrought iron gates topped with teardrop finials stretched high. A breeze rustled the trees across the track behind me, as if they'd been stirred by the act of pressing the intercom button on the squat metal box attached to the gatepost.

I waited. Prepared, as much as possible given the circumstances.

He'd insisted I approach on foot, so I did. Pulled my Golf up a hundred metres away on the leafy verge and scrambled out onto the rough ground. The road – if it could be called that – had been muddy and, not for the first time, I cursed my choice of footwear. Flats would have been better than LifeStride Suki heels. But this was Aldous Tanner, Aldous fucking Tanner. You don't rock up to interview him in jeans, a hoodie and hiking boots on any regular day, let alone for the first interview he's granted in years.

So I'd glammed up. Jet black satin dress that camouflaged how far down my hair stretched. Sparkling choker necklace and matching pendant earrings. A dash of foundation. Subtle application of M.A.C nude lipstick and gloss. A spritz of Modern Muse. The fire red heels added a splash of colour and matched what wasn't on display. It all felt right. Minus the mud-splattered shoes.

He'd insisted I bring only my Dictaphone. So I did, clutched in my left hand, its battery fully charged. Brand new memory card, with a spare taped to the back. No notepad. No phone. I felt naked.

A clank refocused me. The gates began to swing inward, the soft mechanical hum the only indicator their operation wasn't wizardry. I didn't wait for them to open all the way. Took a deep breath and strode through onto the tarmac, flanked by beautifully kept, sweet-smelling hedges of japonica, rhododendron, hydrangea, and azalea, among others I didn't recognise.

The driveway was probably wide enough for two cars to pass, but not by much, as it curved away from the closing gates. I followed its sweeping gentle incline, the house not visible until the hedge thinned and the drive split into two. One fork continued ahead and seemed to end on the far side of the estate at a small outbuilding and garage. Relatively small, at least. It was probably the size of two detached houses, yet dwarfed by the main building to my right, its pillared expanse occupying nearly two-thirds of the grounds' width.

I'd seen its footprint courtesy of Google maps, but the scale of the place in person was unfathomable. It sprawled. Symmetrical and grandiose with palatial wooden doors at its centre atop wide steps from where the drive ended. Window upon window, column upon column at aesthetically pleasing intervals decorated the front. According to the map, the back aspect – with views across English hillsides – was even more impressive, opening out onto a tapering landscape of sculpted gardens tended full time by a resident employee.

Peeling off towards the house, it became even more magnificent with each step. It was common knowledge that, on his death, the estate was to be bequeathed to the National Trust. The news had caused quite a stir when announced, but he was adamant that his quote-unquote unscrupulous and sycophantic heirs were to receive nothing of his fortune.

I admired his integrity. He wasn't the sort of man to make a decision lightly, tight-lipped over his reasons. Then nothing. Five years without a single public appearance.

Passing flowerbeds, shrubs and trees dotted across the immaculately kept lawn, I began my ascent. The white steps gradually narrowed, but even the top one must have been the width of my Paddington semi-detached house.

I was insignificant before the door studded with iron rivets where the hinges bore its weight. A giant iron ring at waist level probably required two hands to unlatch. The door was, however, ajar.

Peeking through the gap, I took in the vast marble entryway edged by a pair of curved staircases to the first-floor balcony. An ornate crystal chandelier hung in the centre, catching the natural light flooding from the front and rear windows, dispersing it in dancing flecks across the wood-panelled walls.

And there, beneath it, stood a lone figure.

Aldous Tanner.

Billionaire behavioural scientist. Philanthropist. No doubt many other things ending ‑ist. His tailored suit, worn like a second skin, delivered poise and it was easy to see why a string of discarded women that would rival James Bond's tally lay in his wake.

I worked hard not to fangirl.

"Ms Greening! Please, come in."

I stepped through onto the wide, bristled doormat and wiped my feet, casting a self-conscious glance at my shoes. He didn't miss it.

"Oh dear. I'll get those tended to."

He brought out his phone, swiped and tapped, paused a moment then put it away in his breast pocket. "Jeffrey will have those cleaned up in no time." He took precise steps forward until a few feet from me. "Ah, here he is."

A tall man not much older than Tanner, and equally immaculately dressed, approached. "How can I help, Sir?"

"Give Ms Greening's shoes a quick buff, please. Last night's rain seems to have inconvenienced her." Turning his attention to me, he gestured, "Ms Greening, if you would."

I complied, ungracefully hopping to slip them off. When I nearly overbalanced, Tanner steadied me, one hand on mine, the other on my waist. I flushed yet shivered, not solely due to the marble's coldness. And cursed myself for not adding nail polish to the naked tips.

Jeffrey turned and left with my heels.

Satisfied, Tanner stood aside, waving his arm toward a door in the far corner beyond the left staircase. "Shall we? The full guided tour sadly takes a little too long."

Stepping past, I padded across the opulent hallway ahead of him, the rhythmic tapping of his shoes amplifying the fact my feet were bare. Letting me go first could have been an act of chivalry; more likely to afford him the opportunity of checking out my derriere. Stories of his infidelity were legendary.

Double doors led to a study and I stepped through onto the luxurious cream carpet. The wood panelling from the hall continued, in front of which were bookcases containing volumes of texts, from old beaten green and brown dust jackets to modern printed ones. Classics included his namesake Huxley's Brave New World and Mark Twain, among socio-political textbooks interspersed with his own publications.

A pair of sofas were arranged in a vee facing the open fireplace, above which a carved oval mirror hung. His dark wood desk at the far end rivalled the size of my dining room table.

Tanner indicated the rightmost sofa and I rounded it, sitting at its centre and crossing my legs, smoothing the dress to where it rested mid-thigh.

He approached a cabinet near his desk. "Drink?"

I nodded, watching as he upended two tumblers, unscrewed a bottle of Bowmore twelve-year scotch and poured. Bringing both over, he passed me one and raised his glass. "To the end."

"Of?"

His expression remained neutral. "Silence."

I tipped my glass and took a slug. As far as whisky went, it was smooth, warmth slithering down my throat. Not as peaty as some. I placed my glass on a coaster on the dark wood coffee table, setting the recorder nearby, thumbing the button. "Shall I?"

Tanner rounded the sofa opposite and settled into it, his arm resting along the back edge of the cushion, one leg crossed. I'd learned from his books that a large percentage of communication is non-verbal, and knew he was mirroring my behaviour to demonstrate openness and build rapport. I let it pass.

He waved his hand and I pressed Record. Sat up straight, hands in my lap.

"I'm here with Aldous Tanner on Friday 15th October, 2021. We're sharing a glass of scotch in his study. I have a barrage of questions but the most pertinent is probably… Mr Tanner—"

"Aldous, please."

"…Aldous. What have you been doing for the last five years?"

He glanced around. Deliberately roved my body from toes to eyes. "This and that. The question's a little… broad don't you agree?"

"So let's start with something narrower. This is the first interview you've granted in all that time. Why now?"

"I felt it was the right time to reveal my story. Come on, Ms Greening—"

"Hannah, please."

"…Hannah. Where's the incisive questioning for which you're famed? Where's the," he gave a theatrical shiver, "pizzazz?"

I bristled. Blushed a little. "I'll get to that. One more opener. You could have held a press conference but didn't. You had your pick of any reporter on the planet. Why me?"

He smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere." Lifting the tumbler to his lips, he took a hit and I watched his throat ripple as he returned to his open posture. An insouciance. Nothing to hide. Or at least, that's the impression he wanted to convey. "I've always admired your candour. The integrity in your writing. You strive for the truth and it comes across in your work, yet you paint a far broader picture than most. You inject incredible humanity into your articles, which makes them a compelling read. Plus," he swept his eyes up me again, lingering at my dress hem, "You have better legs than Kent Walberg."

I reddened further. No stranger to compliments, his were different. Disarming somehow. Gave me butterflies. "Thank you." Shifting slightly on the sofa, I uncrossed my legs and crossed them the other way. "So if it's truth you want, what is this, a confession?"

"Of sorts."

"We have churches for that."

"Please. You're a diligent researcher. You of all people know it would be hypocritical of me to trouble a minister. All that privacy and hand waving and cross-making symbolism. Not my style."

"Well what about therapy? Plenty of people you could talk to."

He fixed me with a penetrating stare and my pulse began to thump. "Oh you're very good." He chuckled. "That's why I like you."

I said nothing. Just returned his gaze, caught in its shining jade tractor beam.

"You remember Rebecca Delaney?"

I scratched my brow. "Yes, of course. She was all over the news a while back."

"Mmmm. Five years."

"Which is of course a coincidence."

He evaded. "I like to surround myself with the best people."

"How long were you in therapy?"

"About eight months."

"Can you say what you discussed?"

He finished the remaining finger of whisky and leaned forward to place his glass on the coffee table, sliding it right up against mine. "My needs. Impulses. Imbalances. Relationships…" he tailed off.

I nodded. "So that would be…" I dredged through memory banks. His marriage list rivalled Henry VIII, minus the beheadings, "Lucille at the time?"

His eyes sparkled. "You know more than I do. You should be my personal assistant."

I uncrossed my legs and eyed the redder patch where they'd been pressed. It was a habit I knew wasn't good for me but I crossed them the other way again anyway.

"Did it help?"

Tanner held my gaze once more. "She used to sit there just like you, with her notepad. She'd eye me over those designer glasses and wait. Endless patience. She'd cross and uncross her legs like you too. When lying on her couch, I liked that view. A lot."

"You're incorrigible."

"I'm a purveyor of the female form. And I appreciate fabulous art."

He seemed lost in thought so I let him talk.

"I asked her once why she crossed her legs. Told her it could damage her circulation. So she stopped. I could see her moving to do it. A habit. But she always stopped herself after that. At least in my company."

I uncrossed mine, almost reflexively. "Was that your altruistic nature, or partially self-serving?"

He wagged his finger and smiled. "You've been reading my latest book."

"I may have skimmed it."

He scoffed. "You're not the sort of person to skim."

"Okay, I read it."

"And?"

"I learned no act is selfless."

"Precisely."

"So your observations about Miss Delaney's legs, the pomp and circumstance around this," I waved my hand to indicate us in the room, "all serves a purpose."

His suit creased in all the right places as he laced fingertips behind his head. "Yes. It's all connected."

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to play twenty questions?" His obliqueness could be so infuriating. Yet his demeanour, his incisiveness, his charm somehow offset it.

"Part your knees for me."

His directness caught me off-guard and I swear my pussy clenched. "What?"

"That’s what I asked Rebecca one day. She was sitting there just like you are. And I asked her straight out."

"And did she?"

"Not at first. But I promised it would help as part of our conversation topics. It was tied to my needs and imbalances."

It was my turn to scoff. "So not just perving then."

"That's a very dismissive attitude from someone so keen to uncover the truth. Human needs are rarely so simple. I thought you read my book."

Chastised, I stayed quiet.

"But yes, you're right. Partially it was my compulsive nature. My desire for control. I see that now. That's what she was helping me with."

I raised an eyebrow. "By flashing her panties?"

Tanner unlaced his fingers and sat forward. "Understand this, Hannah. The more I opened up to Rebecca, the more trust I placed in her, the more I wanted her. And I always get what I want." He ogled me. "When faced with the irresistible, I realised wedding vows are just words. Actions reign."

"How glib."

He was unfazed. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I never do. But when I get an idea, that's it. It's my focus. It consumes me. I pursue it, to the detriment of… everything. Rebecca and I shared so much. The more I talked, the more she saw how her behaviour affected mine and, well, things grew. Blossomed."

He focused faraway and continued. "She was at a crossroads. Had reaffirmed to explore life's meanings. To take risks. So our sessions became more than just me on the couch talking. She shared too. Unloaded a little. Reciprocated. One thing led to another."

"You fucked your therapist? That’s not how it works!"

Tanner looked away. "You make it sound cheap."

"It is! Surely that's a conflict of interest?"

His icy glare silenced, yet stirred me. "It wasn't like that. It grew organically. She'd idly sway in her seat and let me peek up her skirt. I'd correspondingly open up, reveal something troubling me. She'd open her legs a fraction more. Then more, the shadow cast by her skirt shrinking until I could see the taut material between her legs. The shape of her beneath. I'd answer her questions almost in a trance." His manner softened at the recollection. "Sexual hypnotherapy."

"Is that what this is? More of the same? Did you see my picture in some newspaper column and think I'll have her. I'm Aldous Tanner and I always get what I want. Am I a trophy fuck? A conquest? Because if so, you can find someone else to write your goddamn story."

"No." He was almost too quick to answer. "I respect you."

"And you didn't respect her?"

"Of course I did! She meant the world to me."

"More than your wife?"

He shrugged. "It was therapy. It's… different."

"Different." I spat. "Just off to fuck my therapist, honey. Back later to help with the groceries."

Tanner cast me a scolding look like I'd been a naughty schoolgirl he wanted to spank. Slid his gaze down and up my body. "Rebecca met me halfway. Did what I asked and got what she wanted in return. She was willing to do whatever it took for her profession. To uncover the truth." He snapped his eyes to mine. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you spend time getting to know me better? Beyond this, I mean. So you can paint the fullest picture you can."

I gawped. "That's a big ask. I have a family."

"But you also have a career. A duty to the people who hang on your every word. Is that worth the investment?"

I stared out of the window at the rolling countryside. "Depends. How long are we talking? A day, a week?"

"As long as it takes."

"You know I can't commit to that without some assurance."

He leaned back again. Parted his feet ever so slightly, the dark tan of his brogues a stark contrast to the carpet. Another communication signal. "So we're at this stage of the process already. Negotiating. Bargaining."

"It's not like that."

"Of course it is. No act is selfless."

I sighed. "You make me sound shallow."

"It's human nature to barter. Recognition for one's time and considerable expertise is a powerful force."

"It's a conflict of interests, that's what it is. You're offering to pay me to write an article on you. If that ever got out, how would people know I wasn't coerced?"

He stood. I slid my gaze up his body, past the manicured fingernails, cufflinks, necktie and chiselled jaw to stare into the eyes of one of the most enigmatic and possibly sexiest men on the planet. From four feet away, his intimidating presence did things to me I should never admit. Women, hell, men the world over would kill to be this close to him. And here I was acting the spoiled brat. Claiming moral high ground over the guy I'd crushed on for years.

He took a step forward. Then another. Sat on the end of my couch. Within touching distance. The recorder documented the silence. The swish of fabric. It didn't catch my thundering heart rate.

"Hannah Greening, I asked you here because there's nobody else on Earth I trust more to portray who I am. Who I was. The reason for my absence. You are one of the best storytellers bar none, and I mean that sincerely." The cadence in his baritone told me he meant it. "I appreciate I can't ask you to do that without some gesture of goodwill. On both our parts."

His offer gnawed at my mind. "But does it end there? Or am I then obliged to indulge your… needs and imbalances?"

A flicker of a smile registered. "The question isn't whether I'd ask. It's whether you'd be willing."

"To what? Part my knees so you can see my panties?"

"Yes."

I chewed my lip. "Do I remind you of her?"

"Yes. You have a powerful aura. Grace. Strong morals. And incredible beauty."

"Good God you're a charmer."

"Rebecca did this thing. Well a few things. But sometimes she'd take off her panties in front of me. Put her notepad down and somehow wiggle out of them, barely leaving her chair. It's quite a feat. Have you ever tried that?"

"Can't say I have."

He fixed me with an intense gaze. "Would you?"

I let out a sharp laugh. "Never seen the need."

"But would you?"

"Hypothetically?"

"No, actually. Here. Now. As a gesture of goodwill at what I'm offering."

My insides churned and I squirmed on the sofa; an act I'm sure he noticed. Stared him down. "You're actually serious."

"Of course."

"Then no."

"So what would make you do it?"

"Nothing."

He smiled. "Sure about that? What about a million?"

I spluttered. "A million? Pounds Sterling?"

He nodded. "Or two? Does that change anything?"

"I guess it does, yes."

"So now you know. Now you have an insight into my world. Money is no object, Hannah. At all. While we've been talking I've made twice that in offshore investments. So when that need to prosper is taken away, what thrills remain? What currency can anyone tempt me with?"

My mind spun. "I don't kn… uhh. Power?"

He winked. "Power over others."

We sat in silence and I stared at the red dot on the recorder amid unexpectedly arousing thoughts of being commanded to remove my clothes item by item. Strip. Perform. Parade while he watched, stacking unimaginable sums of money alongside me.

He interrupted. "I just proved I can buy your panties from you. Right this minute. What else could I have?"

I sat there dumbfounded as he continued. "I asked Rebecca to wear a dress to a session once. Rather like yours, actually. She favoured deliciously tight skirts and blouses but she chose an incredible evening dress. Partway through, I asked if she would take it off."

"A… and did she?"

I already knew the answer before he confirmed. "What would it take for you to do the same?"

I didn't realise my hand was shaking until I put it on my bare knee and gripped. "Right here? Now?"

He gazed at me. Almost through me. Didn't speak.

"Aldous, I'm not like that… I have…"

"Morals? Like everyone else, until a better offer is tabled." He cocked his head. "You're not tempted? Strip for five million? Blowjob for ten?"

There was no point hiding it. He'd notice the sheen on my skin, maybe even the change in pheromones carried on the jasmine and woody undertones of my perfume. Each microscopic tell delivered greater x-ray vision, regardless of my words. I was transparent. Naked. It was unnervingly exciting to be so exposed while clothed. I cleared my throat. "I didn't say that. But that's not real power is it?"

"Go on."

I smoothed my dress hem with quivering fingers. "You only have power because of money. Take that away and what is there?"

He beamed. "You're so very good. When the instrument is taken away, what is left but the husk of a man surrounded by people clamouring for his fortune? That's why my family will get nothing. They haven't earned it. Haven't worked for it. Haven't built an empire from fucking dust using business acumen, sweat and sleepless nights. They're just coasting until I'm dead."

I wasn't sure what to say. So I didn't.

"Look at me, Hannah." I slithered my attention up without even realising I'd obeyed. His power was intoxicating. "I could buy you dinner. I could buy your service. I could buy your body for a night. Two. A week. Everyone has a price."

I eyed him. His suit. His demeanour. Tried to imagine the sculpted man beneath, using only the sparkle in his eyes – like a kid on Christmas day – as a reference point. "You can't buy everything with money, Aldous."

He chuckled. "Quite."

Goosebumps formed from his stare and I knew he'd notice. Just like he seemed to know every forbidden thought, and every jitter in my underwear. The fabric of his voice was utterly alluring. Composed and unhurried. "Rebecca didn't do it for money. I paid for her professional services, but never for anything more. She did it because I asked. Because she recognised my needs and supported them. Because she wanted to. But primarily because she needed something in return that wasn't fiscal."

He spelled out the wild thoughts that had begun to form. "She didn't take her panties off because I asked. Nor her dress. She didn't bend over her desk and let me lash her pretty bottom with this very belt because I coerced her." He patted his waist. "She did it willingly, then cried and pleaded for more. When I took her, she begged for it deeper."

I swallowed. Just stared.

"Events escalated. Week after week, we voraciously clawed and bit and fucked like animals in the sanctuary of her office. Free of societal shackles, free of vows and judgement, exploring our desires without consequence." He paused. "Relatively. But she took as much from me as I did from her."

The information filtered into me, and I became aware of my breathing as I stared down at my hands. More than that, I became aware of my entire body. How it responded to his words. When I went to cross my legs and thought better of it, my pussy lips were slick. Panties sticky. His gravitas, his unnerving attention had unleashed… urges bubbling deep within.

The crazy part? There was nothing wrong with my sex life. Ben and I knew how to have fun between the sheets. But this was another level. Dangerous. Liberating to live entirely in the moment. Maybe I didn't know myself that well at all. Maybe that was his point.

Engrossed in thought, I almost missed when he spoke. "What would convince you to spend time with me? Understand me. If it's money, fine. Name your price. But without appearing too conceited, I'm offering you something money can't buy. What's that worth? The way you spin this story could make or break your career. Don't you want it to be the most complete it can be?"

My voice was hollow. "Of course I do."

"Then what do you want? And what would you do to obtain it?"

He placed his hand on my knee and I jolted. My mind raced. The concepts of right and wrong turned endless grey. My family balanced against my vows, versus the chance of writing the most intimate article ever penned about one of the most fragile, complex, cryptic and unfathomably brilliant minds in the world.

There's no way I could accept money directly, however tempting. Millions of readers. One leak, one inquiry and my integrity would be compromised. And I'd know, which is a secret I wasn't willing to take to the grave.

But could I live with myself if I strayed? Could I look my husband in the eye and tell him I love him any more? Could I compartmentalise? Would it change me forever? Would I regret the missed opportunity? Me and Aldous Tanner. Just two links in the chain. Lower risk. Greater emotional payload.

I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "How about paying for my son to go through University? And then..."

He lifted his brows. "And then?"

Pursing my lips, I blew out. "An exchange." His fingers burned against my thigh. "Details about the last five years, and I'll…" I leaned back in the sofa and inched apart my knees, just enough until his expression lit, "play my part at keeping your imbalances in check."

I lay exposed, pulse hammering, arousal ratcheting. Leaking, until Tanner nodded slowly. "Deal. But the recorder stays on. And I get a copy before you leave, for both our sakes, so I can't be misquoted."

Thoughts of what the recorder would capture terrified as much as excited me further. Proof of my infidelity. My sighs. Groans. Trust, power and vulnerability condensed into an inch of plastic and silicon. Would I beg for his touch? Would I have a choice? Would I want one?

I snapped shut my legs and nodded. "Deal."

"Excellent. Matching the colour of your shoes is an exquisite detail, by the way."

"Thank you. So let's get back to Rebecca."

"Let's. Such a sweet girl. At least on the surface. Underneath she was a hellcat, like all good women. She confessed to a revelation that put the breakup with her boyfriend in perspective. Never said how she came to that conclusion but it hit her hard."

"So she grabbed life by the horns?"

"And then some. She wanted to experience everything. Like she was catching up on missing out."

"Everything?"

He smiled. "You really want details?"

"It's your story. Can't write it if I don't know."

His chuckle jiggled my body through his hand. He crept higher. "How long have you got?"

Biting my lip, I brought my other foot up to rest on the sofa and drifted my legs apart fractionally. He couldn't fail to see the state of my underwear and a buzz rocketed through me, scalp tingling. "Pick one event. Whet my appetite."

There was no doubt his focus was between my legs as he considered the response.

"She loved to tease. Asked if I'd like to see the new toy she'd bought. I was picturing a vibrator or dildo, but no. You heard of an anal hook?"

I shook my head, enthralled.

"It's like an S-shaped crowbar. Ball one end, eyelet the other. She went round her desk and pulled it from her drawer, along with a length of rope I'd used to tie her wrists the week before."

My breath hitched.

"She stood in front of the desk, unbuttoned her blouse and skirt and let them pool at her feet, revealing an incredible tangerine bra and panty set. Then took the length of rope and tied it around her neck. We'd already played with a collar and leash and she loved when I tugged, making her crawl to me, or yanking her to swallow my cock."

My mind was already blown at the thought of giving myself away like that. Relinquishing control. It terrified me. Truly. But my pussy disagreed.

Tanner was staring between my legs and I idly drifted them wider so he could bask in the effect as he continued. "Before turning away, she handed me the hook and tossed the free ends of the rope over her shoulders, then bent over the desk."

"Wow."

"Precisely my thoughts. I stepped in, dragged her panties down, sank to my knees and tongued her bottom. Soaked her. Listened to her moans ringing out as I prepared her."

His laser vision zeroed on my blooming wet spot, his voice faltering a little; the first outward sign that I affected him. It was thrilling to be desired. To wield power. Propelled to the edge with barely a touch. "When I worked the ball into her and laid the hook along the crack of her behind, she glanced over her shoulder, this glazed expression on her face that I'll never forget. She breathed, don't be gentle."

My underwear was sodden and I ached for contact. For release. Willed him.

His fingers drifted higher. Neared my concealed slit.

"My hands shook as I looped the rope through the eyelet and pulled it taut. The way her back curved and she implored me to pull tighter before tying the ends was electrifying."

My voice was scarcely a whisper, projecting myself into the scene. Trussed. His plaything. "Then what?"

His fingertips brushed my pussy. Explored the material. "I fucked her over her desk. Pulled her hair. Spanked her bum until it was crimson. Treated her roughly, like she demanded. Like she needed."

My insides knotted. Breathing shallowed. He traced up to my clit and circled repeatedly, increasing pressure. "I pounded into her mercilessly as she gasped, gurgled and dripped…"

His eyes bore into mine, my clit rolling beneath his thumb. "And she came."

A tremor gripped, heat radiating, mouth dropping open, back arching into his touch as my body quaked. I bunched handfuls of sofa cushion, the swift climax swamping me.

Time didn't exist. Seconds? A minute? I rode the breathless wave for as long as it took, then exhaled hard, panting. "Unbelievable."

"It was. Almost a dream. We lost ourselves in one another completely."

He watched me drifting. Recovering. Only when I flopped spent to the couch did I realise his fingers had left.

I refocused on him. "No wonder news of her death made you withdraw."

He breathed in.

"I didn't hear it on the news."

Out.

"I killed her."

I snapped my legs closed and rocketed upright, adrenaline spiking. "What?"

He nodded sombrely.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"I wish I was."

"How… but… you weren't a susp… I watched the reports on TV. Went on for weeks. Strangulation, they said."

"We weren't meant to. It was accidental, I swear."

"Jesus Christ." I raked fingers through my hair and sat forward. He slid his hand across my bare thigh and I stiffened before realising he was reaching to intertwine his fingers with mine. They were warm. Slightly tacky.

I gazed across to see a sole tear slithering down his cheek, chased by a second. His lip wobbled. "Hav… Have you ever held someone's life in your hands? For real?"

I shook my head.

"It’s sensational. True power." He swiped his cheek with the back of his free hand. "We were on her therapy couch. I was cradling her naked body in my arms, fingering her. She was gasping. Wriggling. Getting so close, when she tilted her head up to hold my stare, took my hand in hers and slid it over her breasts, up to circle her neck."

He gave a shaky breath. "She nodded when I squeezed. Urged me on, my grip tightening, fingers buried inside her. When she arched her back and came, she gasped so hard and the look on her face was," he stifled a sob, "sublime. Like she was truly free."

"My god. That was… it?"

His hand squeezed mine. "I don't know. I don't think so. I swear she was still breathing in my arms, albeit slowly. I got up, laid her on the couch, stroked her cheek, dressed her. She was weak but I put it down to being drained from the orgasm. It looked pretty intense."

Hanging his head, he looked away. "Maybe if I'd called the ambulance straight away, she'd still…" his voice cracked and I waited for him to compose himself. "But I called Jeffrey instead. Self-preservation. He advised me to leave. Said he'd get some people over to look after her. And I listened."

He shook. "Where was my altruism? My fucking humanity."

His voice dropped to a harsh rasp. "I should have stayed."

He didn't speak for a long while. Took a lungful of air. "She died that night. Somehow Jeffrey's team cleaned her up enough, I don’t know how. Never asked. I was only questioned as a client."

"And you've beaten yourself up ever since?"

He nodded. "I tried to carry on immediately after, but it haunted me, day after day, night after night so I withdrew a few months later." A sob escaped. "Her poor family. Never having closure on the killer who strangled their daughter through love." He whispered. "I loved her."

I stroked his thumb. "And you want closure now?"

He nodded again. "I've tried to atone since, anonymously. But I can't cope any longer. I want you to have that same power I did. To hold someone's life – my life – in your hands. How you tell the story will determine my fate."

He openly cried and I held him until he could speak. "I will answer anything you ask, as candidly as memory allows. The rest," he slid red eyes to mine, "is up to you."

The enormity of what he was asking hit me. Weighed me down. But I couldn't say no. Not now.

We sat huddled. For how long, I had no idea.

I made the decision. Inhaled. "Let me clear my schedule. Call my family."

"Of course."

"I can't promise anything, but I'll present your story as fairly as I can."

His hand tightened in mine. "Thank you, Hannah. Truly. You have no idea what it means to trust you."

I nodded. "It's an honour. First, though." Releasing him, I swivelled to press back into the corner of the sofa. Wriggling and scrabbling beneath my dress, I rolled down my knickers, bunched them and deposited them in his hand, curling his fingers over the top of the warm, wet fabric. "Ask Jeffrey to fetch me some more panties. I'll need plenty more pairs for your remaining anecdotes."