His Dirty Little Secret (Chris Evans)

2. I had a calling

I run. I run and run and run. I never run. But I'm late to work. Overslept. My boss will kill me. I'm out of breath, panting, sweaty, piping hot red. I burst through the doors, and my boss is towering above me. "I'm so sorry-- it'll never happen again-- I swear--" I pant; my heart racing.

"Come with me." He turns around and starts walking. Oh no. I'm getting fired. What the hell am I going to do? The walk seems never-ending. We end up back outside, where the cast's trailers are. I furrow my eyebrows, as we stop outside one of them. My boss knocks on the door, and my heart skips a beat when I read the name plack; Chris Evans.

Chris Evans. Why are we outside Chris Evans's trailer? What's going on?

The door swings open, and my boss walks away, and Chris Evans is stood on the other side of the door. He smiles; that cheeky, boyish smile. Oh my god. I can't move. I can't breathe.

"Hi, Meg." He chirps, and oh my god, his voice. My name rolling off his tongue. It's like music to my ears. But how does he know my name? Shit. Say something, you imbecile.

"H-Hi--"

"I've heard a lot about you." He says, playfully. My heart skips a beat.

"O-oh--" I stutter.

"Come on, get in here." He reaches out and grabs my hand, before pulling me into his trailer. Oh my. After he shuts the door, he locks it. This is really strange. Who told him about me? Why did they tell him about me? What did they tell him? Why am I in his trailer? "A little birdie told me that you have a bit of a crush on me." My eyes widen and I blush deeply. Shit, shit, shit. My reaction makes him laugh. "That's alright, don't be shy. Do you?" He asks, taking both my hands in his. They're so big, and soft.

"I-I--umm--w-well--" I stutter, making him raise one of his eyebrows with a cheeky smile. Oh christ. The eyebrow raise.

"I'll take that as a yes." This is humiliating. I daren't make eye contact with him. "Meg," I nervously shift my eyes to meet his. He's looking at me in a way I can't quite place. This can't be good. I need to flea the country. And, in an extraordinary turn of events, he leans in. His lips come into contact with mine. I'm starstruck. I can't move. Or breathe. My eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He kisses me, soft, gentle, and I eventually melt around him. I kiss back, and his arms snake around my waist. He steps forward, guiding me to the small, built-in sofa. We fall back onto it, now kissing more passionately. My god. He starts kissing down my jawline and neck, and I bite my lip to hold in my moans. How is this even happening?

One of his hands moves towards the button on my jeans. My heart skips a beat, as he unbuttons and unzips them. Holy hell. No, no, no. If he goes anywhere near there he's going to notice how soaked I'm getting. We've barely done anything. He'll know I'm a virgin.

"Are you a virgin, Meg?" He asks, glancing up at me. Shit. I gulp.

"I-I--um--" Slowly, he guides his hand into my pants. I try to stay still. My heart is racing.

"It's okay if you are." I nod quickly, as one of his fingers slips inside me. He smirks, arching that damn eyebrow again. "How about this? Have any lucky guys touched you like this?" He asks, brushing his finger up and down. I shake my head quickly, desperately trying not to moan. He starts stroking my clit, and I can't hold in my moans any longer. I can't stay still any longer either. "Does this feel good?" I nod quickly. "Tell me how good it feels, Meg."

"Really good-- oh my god, Chris--" He smirks again.

"Do you want to have sex with me, Meg?" I nod frantically, as he undoes his belt with his free hand. He's already bulging through his jeans. He connects our lips again, kissing me passionately, as he circles my clit, sending me stir crazy. I moan deeply, getting close to climax. He quickly removes his fingers, before sucking my wetness off his fingers. He then yanks my jeans down, taking them fully off. He doesn't take his eyes off me. They burn into me. My heart is racing. He gently takes my pants off, before pushing his jeans and boxers down in one swift move, letting his erect penis spring free. Sweet baby jesus. I can't peel my eyes away. Grinning, he pushes my legs open wide, positioning himself. "I'll be gentle with you, sweetheart. I'll make you feel good." He whispers, easing himself inside. My lips part and I wince slightly. He thrusts, slowly and gently. The pain starts to disappear, and all I feel is pleasure.

"Ooohhhh Chris..." I moan, wrapping my legs around him. He groans deeply.

"You feel so good, Meg." He keeps thrusting gently, dropping his forehead into the crook of my neck.

"Shit... faster--"

"You sure?" I nod, and he obliges, picking up his pace.

"Ooohhh yesssss, Chris. Fuck--" He grins, clutching the sofa hard, setting a fast rhythm. I rake my nails into his shoulders, panting deeply. He bites and sucks on my neck, pounding into me. I can't contain my howls of pleasure.

"I'm gonna make you cum so hard, Meg." He growls into my ear.

"Ohhh yessss, mmmm, jesus christ.... just like that... I think I might--"

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

I jerk upright, the sound of my alarm dragging me out that blissful dream. Shiiiit. Ugh. I lean over to my bedside table and switch the alarm off. I then collapse back down, sighing deeply. Chris Evans is going to be the death of me.

Once I manage to drag myself out of bed, I get changed, have some breakfast and then head off to work.

The day goes as it always does. I arrive, I make morning coffees for everyone, I get yelled at from my boss, I make more coffee, I spill some coffee, I run around cleaning up after everyone, I get yelled at again, I go home, I get ready for a shift at the cinema. This is my life now. This is all I'll ever be good for.

***

Over the next few days, I see Chris a fair bit, filming. I'm under strict instructions not to bother any of the cast, not that I would have the guts to anyway. I get a couple of emails off Dr Helen Murphy too, asking me to go back and give therapy another try. But I don't see the point. There's nothing she can do to help. Even if there was, I can't afford it.

I'm currently cleaning up in the break room, tidying everyone's mess. Everyone's gone home, so I have my music on, singing along quietly and busting some awkward moves.

"I did not take you for a girl with taste." I jump out of my skin, snapping my eyes over to the source of the sound. A pretty tall, kind of lanky guy is stood in the frame of the door, smiling slightly. I've seen him around before. He's one of the editors.

"Sh-shit-- s-sorry, I thought everyone had gone--"

"They have. I was just finishing up on some work and I heard your music. The Story So Far, yeah?" I nod. "Nice. I'm James. Most people just call me Jamie though." He says, stepping forward and holding out his hand. I nervously shake his hand, flashing a smile.

"M-Meg."

"Good to meet you, Meg. I've seen you around quite a lot. You're the most recent runner, aren't you?" He asks and I nod again. "You've been doing it for quite a awhile, haven't you?"

"Y-yeah--"

"Ah, that's rough. I remember I was doing it for four months and that was more than enough."

"You were a runner?" He nods, letting out a laugh.

"Yeah, just over a year ago. That's normally how you get a job you want in this place. They make you start by making coffees for everyone, doing all the shitty jobs, and then you'll sometimes get promoted." He explains. "What is it you want to get into?"

"Oh, I'm not t-too fussed, but-but I do love music."

"So maybe composing? Or Foley?"

"Y-yeah, I guess-- either of those."

"You're not from around here, are you? You didn't grow up in Boston?" I shake my head. That obvious?

"I moved here fr-from the UK about s-six m-months ago."

"On your own?" I nod. "Damn, fair play, Meg. Fair play. What made you choose Boston?" Shit. Quick. Think fast.

"Oh, um... lets say I had a calling?" I joke with a laugh. Jamie laughs too. Yessss. Being humourous worked well.

"Well, Meg, I better go. See you tomorrow, maybe." I nod.

"Yeah! Bye!" I say with a wave, as he smiles and walks out. Have I maybe made a friend? I hope so. Jamie. He seems nice. And he has good taste in music. I hope we could be friends.