One Man Too Many

By Rachel Cray

This story contains sexual content and is unsuitable for readers below the age of 18.

After a short and unhappy marriage, Mandy has finally left her husband and is offered refuge by her cousin. She quickly finds a new place to live, a great new job, and... a gorgeous new boyfriend with whom she can have the kind of intimate relationship she could never enjoy with her husband.
Anxious to expand her contacts in her new job, she is invited to a meeting of a group of influential business people whose sexual tastes are more adventurous than her new boyfriend can offer. One contact wants her for his new Domme...
Excited by these activities, she is faced with the choice of staying with her loving but conventional boyfriend or exploring new avenues with her business contact; she can't have both.

(Also contains two bonus specimen chapters extracted from two of the author's other works)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Cray
• Release date: Nov 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466143159

Rachel Cray

Rachel writes erotic romances to two sub-genres: the first she calls "law firm erotic", where her characters are the horny partners and employees of a U.S. law firm, and whose spare-time activities may best be described simply as sex-related. The second sub-genre she calls "village erotic", where the cast are the horny inhabitants of Maybourne, a fictional old market town in the heart of England with a number of olde worlde villages, Tudor buildings, a ruined abbey and other picturesque features in both rural and urban settings.She has worked in several European countries, first as a secretary and then as an executive assistant, before returning to her roots in Surrey, England, and close to London; for many years she was the director of administration at the London office of a large U.S. law firm before leaving to run her own recruitment company. Now in semi-retirement, she devotes most of her spare time to writing erotic romance novellas, drawing on her life's experiences in a variety of fields. She is married with children and grandchildren.

Book preview

ONE MAN TOO MANY

by Rachel Cray

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Rachel Cray

Rachel Cray’s home page

One Man Too Many is the sequel to

Needing Her, Needing Him

It is the third in the Lucy & Friends series

Discover other titles by Rachel Cray at Smashwords.com:

Law Firm Love series:

Interview for Love

Working Overtime

The New Client

Snatched

Maybourne series:

A Close Match

Village Accounts

Kate's Return

Lucy and Friends series:

Jack and Me... and His Lodger

Needing Her, Needing Him

and

A Stranger in My Bed

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission by the author, except for brief quotations for review purposes.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Smashwords Edition : Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ONE MAN TOO MANY

by

Rachel Cray

CHAPTER 1

My mobile phone rang: it was Peter, my husband.

Where are you, Amanda?

I’m not telling you. I’ve had enough. I’ve left. This is the end.

Amanda, don’t be silly. Come back now, and we’ll say no more about it.

Don’t you boss me round. I’ve given you five years of my life, and I can’t take any more.

Amanda –

"I’ve gone back to being Mandy again. It was you who insisted on using my formal baptismal name when we got together, and you’ve controlled me ever since. You’ve taken away my identity. You’ve –"

Exasperated, I hung up. I’d run out of words to say.

Well done, my cousin Christine said. I only heard your side of the call, but you’ve done it at last!

I don’t know how he’s going to explain this to all his precious friends. It’ll peel away his veneer of respectability.

Does he know my address here?

No. But there’s a chance he might put two and two together, and come looking for me. If he can spare the time.

I’d conspired with Christine; I had taken her into my confidence, and she’d invited me down to her home in Surrey. No, she’d insisted that I come, and I had cried every mile of the long drive from my home in Lincolnshire. I’d never been really close friends with her – she was twelve years older than me – but she was all I had as family now.

Sparks had flown recently, whenever Peter and I laid into each other. He had gone on one of his many business trips – with his secretary, I suspected – and I seized the opportunity. I was at the end of my tether; I needed a refuge somewhere, and Christine had kindly stepped in.

Only twenty minutes before Peter had called me, I’d taken a walk to stretch my legs after the long drive, and had a chance meeting with an old friend that ignited a spark in my mind; I saw it as a challenge to the whole way I had lived my life.

I had told Christine about my encounter with my friend.

She was sitting in the park. I haven’t seen her since my last days at university, I said. I had no idea she’d settled here. We had some catching up to do, but I didn’t let on about my split with Peter. I let her think that life was pretty stable.

What’s her name? And where does she live? asked Christine. Maybe I know her.

Lucy Anderson. She’s Dr. Lucy Anderson now, a well-known art historian. She teaches at a local school, but I don’t have her address.

I can’t say I’ve heard of her. But the world is a big place. If you see her again, invite her round for tea or something. You need friends after all you’ve been through.

She’s a bit of a non-conformist, Christine. And she’s living with a lesbian.

"That Lucy Anderson! Don’t have anything to do with her, Mandy! That woman isn’t an art historian. Have you seen her books? They’re pornographic!"

If she’s a pornographer, how come she’s allowed to teach art to 13 year-olds? I think you’ve been listening to some very narrow-minded people. Or you’re mixing her up with someone else.

Peter had attempted to dictate to me whom I could have as friends. Now Christine was doing exactly the same. She had kindly offered me a temporary refuge from my short and unhappy marriage, and I had gladly accepted it – not realising she was going to impose terms.

Enough was enough. I was going to decide what company I should keep. I had been working part-time at a charity shop in Lincoln, but hardly knew the other people there. Peter and I went to church every Sunday, when Peter was at home, but we kept our distance from the other members of the congregation. Peter was a snob; he thought we were too good for everyone else in the neighbourhood.

As soon as we set up home together, he forced me to change my identity. I ceased to be Mandy, and he made me use Amanda. I’d never been called Amanda, except by the priest at the font when I was a babe in arms. But Mandy sounds so... common, he had explained.

I lived in a city offering all kinds of activities; I had wanted to join a club or society. There was bound to be something that would interest me, and I would meet other people with whom I could share some quality time while Peter was away. But Peter had stopped me. There are all kinds of weirdos out there, he had warned me. It won’t do to go mixing with them.

Mandy, Christine began again in a more conciliatory tone, why don’t you find yourself a home and live down here near me. Get yourself another man. What ties do you still have up there, in that huge, empty house you call home?

Nothing, really. What’s weighing on me is the admission that I’ve failed.

Ha! You haven’t failed: your marriage has failed. And so has mine. I’m happy to admit it. I’m 40, overweight, and I’ve had enough of men and anything to do with sex. Divorcing my husband was the best thing I ever did. I’m free, and I don’t have to answer to anyone. That’s all I want.

But I have to think about the complications of the divorce settlement, dividing the house, and everything else...

Let it go, Mandy. You’re young enough to make an entirely fresh start.

She was right. I was 28 years old. I could marry again and maybe, this time, I could make a family.

I haven’t asked you before, but do you think he has another woman?

It’s... possible. Indeed, it was probable, I reflected. We’d lived together for five years, but only married six months ago and, shortly after that, we stopped having sex – although, to be honest, we hadn’t had much sex before we married; I’d hoped that he’d be more loving once we had become husband and wife. But he ignored all my bedroom initiatives and he never tried to start anything with me. We hadn’t kissed or even been close for several months. And, for years, he had taken his secretary with him to hotels on overnight trips, although I had noticed – when I had gone through his papers – that they booked separate rooms. I had trusted him for too long. I had tolerated him for far too long.

Forgive my probing further, Mandy, but... do you think it would have been any different if you’d had children?

I had two miscarriages. If Peter hadn’t left me alone in the house, with all the stress of his going off with his fancy-woman, I reckon either or both pregnancies would have gone to term.

Mandy, my dear... I had no idea. I’m so sorry.

It’s history, Christine. And now, today, we’re making new history. A fresh start.

I think you should start by severing a few ties. You’ll need to see a lawyer. Your charity shop should know you won’t be coming back to work there. Get in touch with your bank, too. And I don’t want you to use my home address as your forwarding address, especially if I’m going to find your Peter turning up on my doorstep one morning, wielding a big kitchen knife at my throat.

I don’t think he’d go that far. But I’ll start looking round for a place to rent tomorrow, I said.

I’m not trying to get rid of you, Mandy. I just want to keep my own back covered. You won’t be able to move into anywhere for at least a couple of weeks, anyway.

I think I should start by preparing a list.

I spent the evening writing down everything that I could think of that I needed to do. At the end of my schedule, as an afterthought, I wrote F.A.M. That was my secret code: Find A Man. My husband had denied me sex for so long and I was now very frustrated.

One item in the list glared at me; it was the most obvious. I would have to get myself a job. The town was well within commuting distance of Central London, so that wouldn’t be too much of a problem, once I had decided what I was going to do. My degree was in human geography, which wasn’t likely to open too many doors for me; if it had been in mathematics or a science subject, life could have been so different. I didn’t even have a C.V. or resume ready to use; I’d never had to look for a proper job all the time I was married. I’d have to go to the public library the following day and read all I could about preparing to search for a job.

I had brought my laptop with me in my escape kit, and I knew there were plenty of job-hunting websites online. That should surely be a start.

I had a friend who worked in the recruitment industry, Christine remarked. She was always complaining she was flooded with job applications from people who didn’t have a hope in getting a job. She had a technical background, and was always talking about the signal-to-noise ratio, and having to cut her way through a lot of dross to find the good candidates who applied online. So you’ll really have to stand out.

At the age of 28, with no real work history for the last four years, it looked pretty bleak. I sat back and sighed.

Of course, there’s another way to get a job, she added. That’s through a friend, or a friend of a friend. I can ask around for you.

Christine worked in a large accountants’ firm in London, and I assumed she might know a few people well-placed to open doors for me. I decided to get my achievements down on paper, pass the document on to Christine, and wait for a couple of weeks to see if anything percolated through. After that, I decided, I’d be on my own and at the mercy of the thousands of HR departments within an hour’s travel