Thank you so much to all of you, who have commented on my story. As you know I'm a bit handicapped with my arm in a cast, so I didn't respond personally to each one of you, but I do appreciate your comments very, very much!

The angst isn't over yet in the story, I'm afraid, but I hope you'll "enjoy" it anyway...

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The TV was on, but Tom stared at the screen without seeing anything.

Of all the people to meet on a one week trip to London!

She's divorced ...

A complete disaster. And what did she mean with "after"? After me?

She's so beautiful.

I still love her.

"Fuck!" He swore under his breath. He switched the television off. There was no sense in pretending to watch anyway.

What now?

He looked around in his hotel room. Cold and sparsely furnished like all hotel rooms. He had been in so many over the years. Travelling was part of his job and he was used to the lonely evenings in cities where he didn't know a soul. Usually he just stayed in, read a bit, worked a bit, and watched a bit of TV. He wasn't one to go down into the bar, drinking alone or on the prowl to hit on some woman. He knew the raucous stories from some of his colleagues who bragged about their "conquests" on the road, but he had never been tempted.

He was tempted now though, he realized. In fact, he longed to shag her out of his system somehow.

As if that is possible.

Wasn't that what he had tried to do for the last few years? Of course he had called it "dating" and he had tried to find a connection with the women he had "dated", and of course failed to do so. But then he had slept with some of them anyway, although he was well aware even then that he didn't love any of them, just a sympathy shag in most cases.

He wasn't any better than those colleagues,just pretending to be.

"Fuck!" He swore again. He couldn't stay here, so he stood up, grabbed his wallet and his keys and headed out the door.

Xxxxxx

She was blonde, petite and with eyes like a cat. She didn't resemble "her" in any way, and she was the one hitting on him within ten minutes of him taking his seat at the bar.

"Alone?" she asked.

Not very subtle.

But he nodded. She took that as an invitation to take a seat next to him. For a moment, they just eyed one another. She was pretty, though looked a bit cheap, but not too much, and definitely not his type. Not warm, not radiant, not like her at all.

"I'm Edna." She gave him a bright smile. "Edna Braithwaite."

I can't believe it's that easy.

"Tom." He heard himself say and gave her a smile of his own. "Tom Branson."

Xxxxxx

"Mary, are you busy?" She almost didn't recognize her sister's voice. Sybil was crying.

"Just a minute, darling, I'll be right with you," Mary said instantly. She pressed the button to speak with her secretary. "Linda, I'm not available for the next 15 minutes. I've got an urgent call."

Fabulous woman, Linda. She didn't complain about long hours even though it would be past nine in the evening on days like this. She earned every penny of her generous salary.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she got back to Sybil. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home. It's ... I really needed someone to talk to so ... I'm sorry if you're working late ..."

"It's all right," Mary said. "Just tell me what happened."

She could hear her sister start to cry again. "Oh, Mary," she sobbed. "I saw Tom."

"Tom?"

Who was Tom? Was it about work? Sybil had been very stressed lately because of some paper she wanted to get published in a political magazine? Was this "Tom" somehow responsible for that?

Sybil was still crying and talking about "Tom" being still angry with her and wanting "answers".

"Which Tom, Sybil?" Mary finally asked not sure how to respond.

There was a moment of silence. "Tom Branson," Sybil then said quietly. "You can't tell me you have forgotten."

Tom Branson, Tom Branson... oh! Oh, the uni boyfriend who wanted Sybil to follow him to Dublin! That was his name.

"I haven't," she said hastily. "He was the guy from uni, right?"

"Yes."

Mary raised her eyebrow. "So what about him? Is he back in London then?"

"He did a presentation today at the uni. He's editor of The Irish Times," Sybil sounded calmer now. "He's become very successful."

"Oh good for him," Mary said. "But why did it upset you to see him?"

Silence, then the dial tone. Sybil had ended the call.

Xxxxxx

They stumbled into Edna's room in the hotel only an hour later. It was odd, but Tom had a deep-seated desire, almost frantic.

Even with his eyes closed he couldn't pretend it was her. She felt completely different and for the split of a second he felt pathetic that he still remembered how she had felt in his arms after five years.

Had she thought about him when she had slept with her husband? Did she come thinking of him instead of her bloody husband? Did she scream his name in her mind the same way as he screamed hers so numerous times?

He felt gosebumps on his body and was just short of tearing Edna's blouse off, only the last remnants of his usual self prevented him from doing so. There was no elegance in their undressing, nothing sensual. Not like unwrapping a gift and discovering what lay beneath. They just got rid of their clothes in quick, hurried movements, not even glancing once. No shame, no hesitation, no pretence, only signals that brought a response. Nice tits, great arse, nice legs. He had a raging hard on.

He didn't care about her, his mind as ice cold as his body was on fire. He didn't care if she would enjoy it. He had always prided himself of being a generous lover, one who always sought to give pleasure as much as to take it.

But not this time. When he felt her lips close around him while she knelt on the floor. He knew that there was no way he was going to be returning the favour. This time he was just going to shag himself senseless.