Multi-Orgasmic Vol 2

One Plus One-1

One Plus One

Jayne Simmons took a deep breath, fighting to slow her racing heart. She dug her fingernails into her sweaty palms.

Deep down, she knew perfectly well nothing bad would happen—it was just her own personality and anxieties making her want to turn and run.

Why couldn’t the conference have been at a hotel that offered room service? Being all but forced to attend was bad enough, but she’d consoled herself with the fact that at least outside the hours of the talks and lectures—where she’d keep herself to herself—she could retreat to the sanctuary of her room.

But that wasn’t an option. Not unless she wanted to starve to death. Which she then idly considered as a possibility.

She let out a heavy sigh and urged herself to step over the threshold before she started attracting attention by dithering in the doorway. One of the main reasons she’d even become an accountant was because it was a job that would, by and large, allow her to work around her paralysing social anxiety. Meeting new people had always been a problem for her, right from childhood. But being holed up in an office with nothing but a computer for company? Heaven. Give her spreadsheets over humans any day.

If she could just slip in, eat, and slip away again unnoticed, she’d be delighted. She’d have to interact with the restaurant staff, but she could just about deal with that—would have to, unless she’d changed her mind about starving to death.

Being unnoticed was an art she’d perfected over the years. Her given name, with its superfluous ‘y’ in the middle, had helped earn her the unoriginal nickname “Plain Jayne” since junior school and, rather than rebelling against it, she’d embraced it. If she was plain, uninteresting, then nobody would notice her. For the most part, it worked, and to say she enjoyed a quiet life was one hell of an understatement.

That clearly wasn’t going to be the case tonight, however. For no sooner had she entered the crowded dining room, than she was noticed.

“Jayne?” said a deep, male voice. “Jayne Simmons, is that you?”

Fuck! Her heart rate ramped up again as she looked around in a panic to see who had spoken. Who the hell could possibly know her here?

Her hurried search came to an end when a man she presumed was the owner of the voice emerged from the line of people waiting at the service counter and approached her. She frowned and observed him through narrowed eyes.

As he grew closer, her stomach churned and her pulse thudded even harder—much more of this and she’d have a bloody heart attack. Suddenly her brain acknowledged what her body—or her cardiovascular system, at least—had already surmised. She knew him, too.

What was more, she’d had a crush on him for three whole years at university.

Clive bloody Woodward.

“Hi,” she squeaked. She had gone all lightheaded, and had a strong suspicion the smile she thought she was aiming in Clive’s direction was actually a grimace. Poor bloke would soon regret speaking to her.

Clive smiled. “Jayne—do you remember me? Clive Woodward? From university. I’m sure I’ve changed a lot!” He chuckled and ran a hand through his greying hair. “You haven’t, you jammy so-and-so. Other than your hair being shorter, you look just the same.”

“Of course I remember you,” she replied breathlessly, wishing desperately for the ground to swallow her up. She was inching closer to a full-on panic attack, and having her old crush being all chatty and charming wasn’t helping. Come on, Jayne, get a f*****g grip, woman! You know him, remember? This doesn’t count as meeting a new person, even though you haven’t seen him for twenty years.

The thought calmed her ever so slightly, and she managed to add, “It’s lovely to see you. You look great. Life’s obviously been treating you well.” She clamped her lips shut then, impressed with herself for making conversation.

“Thank you. You look fantastic, too. Though, if you don’t mind me saying, a little flushed. Are you feeling all right?”

Jayne nodded frantically, although the inferred ‘yes’ was the exact opposite of what she actually felt. She sucked in a breath and waved a hand at the room. “It’s just… all this.” She hung her head, growing more embarrassed by the second. “It’s a bit… much.”

Immediately, Clive’s expression grew serious. “s**t. I’d forgotten. I’m such an i***t. I’m going to gently take your arm, Jayne, all right?”

She nodded and croaked, “All right.”

“Come on,” he said warmly. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ve got you.”

Clive led her over to an empty table tucked away in the furthest corner from the buffet counter, where it was quieter. He pulled out a chair and helped her to sit. “Just keep breathing, Jayne, okay?” He took the seat beside her and poured her a glass of water from the carafe on the table before handing it to her. “Here you go.”

Jayne took the glass with what she hoped was a grateful smile, rather than another grimace. Clive was being so kind, so patient with her—he certainly didn’t deserve to have her pulling faces at him.

Especially since, after all these years, he’d actually remembered her little—ugh, who was she kidding, it was huge!—issue and was being very considerate about it.

Jayne took several careful sips of the water and, by some miracle, the panic began receding. Clive remained silent, exuding patience. When their eyes met, he flashed an encouraging smile.

Her heart flipped over as she realised Clive was, in fact, having a calming effect on her. His very presence made her feel like everything was going to be all right. As an added bonus, he didn’t make her feel like a nuisance, or a freak, or like she was overreacting. He was just kind, caring, and understanding of her needs. That hadn’t happened in… well, forever. She’d always been made to feel her issues were something she should just be able to “get over”.

Didn’t they realise, if it were that simple, she would have done it by now? Did they think she wanted to be like this? Wanted to freak out every time she stepped or was pushed outside of her comfort zone? Yes, she loved her job, and had managed to build a life for herself where any situations which might trigger her anxieties were kept to a minimum. But she did want to be like everyone else—to have friends, relationships, a partner.

Sex.

God, did she want to have s*x! She had a year on The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and ridiculous didn’t even begin to cover it. What kind of person didn’t even manage to ditch their virginity at university?

A person, she reminded herself, whose social anxiety was so bad that she didn’t go to parties, didn’t get drunk, didn’t lose her inhibitions. And clearly the less seedy way of just meeting a nice guy, dating him, then eventually sleeping with him was never going to happen. On the upside, she’d graduated with first-class honours—inevitable when the hottest affair she’d had was with her textbooks.

She’d long since resigned herself to living without s*x—with another person, anyway. So why now, after all these years, was she thinking about it? Why now, when the man she’d lusted over for three interminable years sat in front of her, still gorgeous, still charming, still perfect? He’d been out of her league then, and he was certainly out of her league now. That and he couldn’t possibly be single.

A surreptitious glance at his left hand told her he either wasn’t married, was divorced, or didn’t wear a ring. So she was none the wiser.

Story of my f*****g life, or what? Not like I was going to make a move on him, anyway.

She put the glass down on the table, then, a totally alien bravery filling her, met Clive’s eyes again, forcing herself to maintain contact, not to look away. “Thank you, Clive. I really appreciate your help. I’m feeling much better now.”

His smile widened, the gesture making his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. Jayne’s heart thumped again. “You’re welcome. Are you ready to get something to eat now?”

She shifted her gaze to the counter, then back to him, and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“I can come with you. I haven’t had anything yet. Or I could go and get something for you, if you give me an idea of what you like, or don’t like.”

Jayne’s cheeks heated and she shook her head again, then looked down at her hands. “Honestly, it’s fine. I’m really not hungry. Thank you, though. I think I’m just going to go back to my room. I’ll get something at breakfast time.”

Clive frowned. “And what if you have another panic attack then? You can’t spend the whole conference not eating. You’ll be ill.”

Shrugging, she replied, “I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.” She stood. “Anyway, thank you again. I guess I’ll see you around?”

He got to his feet. “Can I walk you back to your room? I’d like to make sure you get there all right. You still look peaky.”

“O-okay. Thanks.” If it had been anyone else, she’d have been eager to get rid of them and be alone. But Clive was different. He didn’t inspire the same fear other people did. He never had, actually, but it was only now that she was realising it.

She scurried for the lift. As she stuck her finger on the call button, she sensed Clive stepping up beside her.

“Jayne?”

“Yes?”

“Am I making this worse for you?”

Sweat prickled on her palms. “W-what do you mean?”

“I’m just keeping an eye out for you, but you ran out of there like a bat out of hell. If you don’t want me to walk you back to your room, it’s all right. I understand. I know you prefer your own company. I’m just concerned about you, that’s all.”

“Actually,” she blurted, “you’re not making it worse. You’re making it better. I’m not sure how, or why, but your presence gives me the sense that everything is going to be all right. That sounds so cheesy—I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burned.

The lift pinged its arrival, and the doors slid open. Clive held out a hand, indicating she should go in ahead of him. As she did, he chuckled. “You have nothing to apologise for, Jayne.”

“I don’t?” She selected her floor on the control panel and then stepped back as the doors closed and the car began to move.

Clive shook his head. “Of course not. I’m flattered.”

“Okay,” Jayne replied, not knowing what else to say. Silence reigned, then, as the lift transported them up to Jayne’s floor. It continued as they exited the lift and made their way along the corridor and up to the door of her room.

She retrieved her key card from her bag. “Right,” she said, meeting Clive’s eyes with some difficulty, “I’m all set. Thank you for walking me back.”

With a small smile, he replied, “That’s quite all right. It was my pleasure. You’re sure you’re going to be all right now?”

She nodded. “Positive. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I hope so.” Then he turned and walked back towards the lift.

For some reason, Jayne didn’t immediately unlock the door and rush into her room. She was frozen in place, watching him walk away. Then, suddenly, despite knowing she would indeed see him the following day, she called out, “Clive, wait.”

He spun around and returned to her, concern etched into his features. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Fine!” she chirped. “I’m fine. I just wondered... do you want to come in for a nightcap?”

Clive narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Jayne’s heart sunk. She’d been so brave, and he was going to say no! She took a step back, butting up against the doorframe and fumbled to get her key card into the slot. “F-forget it. Forget I said anything. It was stupid. Please, just...” She trailed off as the card slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the carpet. “s**t!”

“Stop,” he said firmly. “Just stop. Let me get that.”