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claredevee · 5 days ago

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Chapter Update 🔥 | “Prep”

Pedro x Eve | NSFW (very)

The trailer is locked. The skirt is intentional. And they’ve only got 21 minutes before call time.

This chapter is all build-up, tension, and payoff. Pure smut.

Written entirely by my fever brain, which apparently decided plot control is for the healthy. So if it feels unhinged... blame the cold. Or thank it.

Link to whole chapter-> Chapter 24: Up Before the Heat

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After the weekend, you’re not just the intern and the movie star anymore. You’re something more—something real. But no one can know. Not yet. So you planned a private early “prep” meeting in his trailer. Scenes:Pedro's studio trailer, early morning Warnings: consensual smut, age gap, power imbalance (acknowledged), boss/intern dynamic, sex with risk of being overheard, rough sex, possessiveness, light choking, dirty talk, emotional tension

Posting the smut straight on here. Just because.🤭😇

She got in her car. Keys, bag, button-up tossed in the passenger seat. Lip gloss reapplied in the rearview mirror with one last whispered threat to herself—don’t freak out, don’t combust, don’t die—and then she pulled onto the road.

Of course there was traffic.

Of course, every slow-moving Prius in Los Angeles had decided today was the day to test her patience.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the studio gates finally came into view. 7:32. Two minutes late.

She pulled into the lot, slipped into a space near the security booth, and cut the engine with a breathless exhale.

The studio grounds were already humming—crew members carrying coffee, radio chatter crackling, someone wheeling a rack of wardrobe options across the asphalt. Eve barely noticed.

Her eyes were locked on the row of trailers.

One in particular.

She checked her reflection in the visor mirror. Hair: intact. Shirt: knotted. Skirt: still a war crime.

She swiped a quick dab of perfume at her neck, grabbed her bag, and stepped out of the car—heels clicking softly against the pavement, heartbeat thudding in time.

She didn’t rush.

But she didn’t stroll either.

Every step toward that trailer tightened something inside her—heat and nerves and wicked anticipation knotting together into a single thought:

“Prep”.

She knocked once—short, sharp.

Then opened the door without waiting.

The trailer was quiet, dimly lit by the muted gold of morning sunlight slipping through the blinds. A soft hum of the A/C filled the space. It smelled like coffee. Like skin. Like him.

Pedro was at the counter, mid-sip, in black joggers and a dark tee that clung to his shoulders in a way that felt intentional. Or maybe she was just looking too closely.

He turned as she entered. Stilled.

Eve shut the door behind her, slow and sure. No rush. No hesitation. Just her, in that white shirt tied too high and that black skirt too tight.

Pedro’s eyes tracked her like a threat. Not hurried. Just focused. Down the curve of her waist. Her hips. The exact length of her legs. Then back up.

“You’re late... For Prep,” he said, voice rough like it had only just woken up.

Eve raised a brow. “Two minutes.”

Pedro leaned back against the counter, his coffee cup still in hand. He didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch. Let her feel it.

Then—calm, casual—he said, “That skirt’s a hazard.”

Eve dropped her bag on the small couch, took one step closer. “So don’t touch it.”

Pedro’s mouth twitched. “Now why would you say something like that?”

“Because” Eve said, voice low as she moved into his space, “you look like you’re about to make a very unprofessional decision.”

Pedro set the coffee down slowly. “I told you. I’m not responsible for what happens today.”

He stepped away from the counter, eyes never leaving hers. The space between them thinned with every step—thick with heat, with warning, with promise.

Eve held her ground, breath shallow as his hand lifted—reaching toward her like he was going to touch.

But instead, she heard it.

Click.

The unmistakable sound of the trailer door locking from the inside.

Pedro’s fingers lingered by the latch for just a moment before he turned back to her, eyes darker now, the air between them crackling.

Her pulse kicked up. Her throat went dry.

Eve tilted her head, eyes locked on his as the weight of the moment swelled between them.

“Sure,” she said, voice smooth. “Not responsible. But let’s not pretend you didn’t start it.”

Pedro’s brow lifted slightly, amused.

She took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking into something electric.

“You’re the one who left me hanging in your closet, remember?” Her voice dropped, just a touch. “All that heat. All that build-up. Then nothing.”

Pedro’s jaw flexed.

Pedro didn’t answer right away.

He just watched her. Like he was dissecting her. Unwrapping her layer by layer.

Then he stepped forward—slow, steady—closing the space between them with purpose. Eve backed up on instinct, spine meeting the cool surface of the trailer wall.

Pedro didn’t touch her.

Just stood there—half a head taller, arms relaxed at his sides, but everything about him coiled and waiting.

He leaned in, voice low, right by her ear.

“That photo…” His breath ghosted along her skin.

Eve’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Pedro’s mouth curved, just a little.

“You wanted me wrecked.” He tilted his head, gaze sliding over her face.

She swallowed.

Then, like he couldn’t help himself—his mouth curved. “That was a war crime, by the way. That photo? You don’t come back from that.”

He stepped into her space again, slower this time. Intentional. His hand skimmed the wall beside her head, but he didn’t touch her yet—just stood close enough that her breath caught.

“You sent that,” he murmured, voice warm and smug and so incredibly Pedro, “as revenge for the closet, didn’t you?”

Eve met his eyes, deadpan. “Took you long enough.”

Pedro grinned. “You’re petty when you’re frustrated.”

“You’re smug when you’re horny.”

He tilted his head. “Not denying it.”

And then he kissed her.

Not desperate. Not rushed. But deep—decisive. Like they’d already agreed to this hours ago and were just finally cashing it in (Which they totally had). One hand slipped to her waist, the other to her jaw, tilting her mouth to exactly where he wanted it.

She sighed into him, her hands fisting the front of his T-shirt, dragging him closer until her back was flush against the wall and his body pressed into hers with a low, knowing hum.

Pedro broke the kiss just long enough to say, voice husky against her skin, “You wore that skirt on purpose.”

Eve’s lips brushed his jaw. “It’s stretchy.”

“I noticed.” He nipped lightly at her neck. “Very… accessible.”

She laughed, breathless, head tipping back as his mouth found the curve of her throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, grip tightening.

“I hope you’re not in a hurry,” she whispered.

Pedro’s grin was all teeth. “Oh no. I came early.”

“For prep.”

He glanced at his watch. 7:39. His brow lifted. “We’ve got about twenty-one minutes to get… prepping.”

Eve raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very generous estimate.”

Pedro stepped back just enough to tug at the knot of her shirt, slow and deliberate. “I’m a very efficient man under pressure.”

“Is that what this is?” she teased, her voice warm and wicked. “Efficiency?”

“Absolutely,” he said, already leaning in again. “Just trying to support the team.”

His hands slipped to her waist, then lower. Her skirt—very stretchy—offering exactly the kind of access she knew it would.

She let out a soft sound, low in her throat, as her back hit the wall again.

Pedro grinned against her neck. “Consider me… committed to the role.”

Pedro’s hands slid down, fingers curling around the back of her thighs as he pressed her harder into the wall. She let him, breath hitching as his mouth trailed down her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her knees threaten collapse.

The kiss had shifted—hotter now, messier, like they'd both stopped pretending to take their time.

His fingers slipped under the knot at her shirt, teasing the hem up until his palms found bare skin. When he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, he paused, grin curving against her collarbone.

“No bra?” he murmured, voice low and wrecked.

“Prep,” she whispered. “Gotta be efficient.”

Pedro let out a soft, delighted laugh. “God, you’re evil.”

He trailed a hand down the front of her body, brushing the knot of her shirt, then continuing lower—palming her hips through the fabric of her skirt.

“This,” he muttered against her neck, “is a very unprofessional outfit.”

“It’s a work skirt,” Eve breathed. “I just wear it well.”

Pedro’s mouth curved into a grin.

Then he dropped his hand and slipped his fingers under the hem, sliding it up with almost infuriating ease. The fabric hugged her perfectly, but it gave way for him without resistance—gliding up her thighs until it bunched at her hips.

“Stretchy,” he murmured approvingly, voice low and dark. “You planned this.”

Eve bit her lip. “You think I tie shirts like this by accident?”

Pedro’s laugh was rough. "Me vai a matar, weona." You’re gonna kill me, babe.

His hand slipped beneath her underwear and she gasped, her back arching slightly into him, hands flying to grip his shoulders. His fingers moved slow, certain—drawing lazy circles that had her pulse hammering in seconds.

Her breath came faster, shallower, as his free hand slipped behind her thigh and hitched her leg up higher around his waist.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered, “You really showed up like this? For me?”

“Consider it a team-building exercise,” she said, voice trembling.

Pedro chuckled, lips brushing her throat. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re obsessed.”

He kissed her again, hard, one hand bracing her leg, the other sliding between them—his fingers curling inside her. Eve moaned against his mouth, clinging to him as heat spiraled out from his touch.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, nipping her bottom lip. “Can you keep quiet?”

“Try me.”

Pedro pressed a kiss to her neck, open-mouthed and hungry. “We’re going to need every damn minute.”

And then he dropped all pretense of teasing.

His thumb worked her clit, rubbing slow circles as two fingers slid inside her. Eve gasped, her body tensing and releasing around those thick digits. He groaned against her mouth, swallowing the sound with a deep kiss. "Fuck, you feel good," he muttered. He began to move his hand faster, curling his fingers just right until she was moaning continuously. The noises drove him crazy; he wanted to make her scream but couldn’t. They couldn’t risk having the whole movie set hear them.

Pedro's eyes darkened as Eve whimpered, her hips grinding desperately against his hand. "Shhhh," he breathed, kissing her hard and muffling the sounds she made with his lips. He pulled away from her mouth long enough to growl, "Quiet, mi amor." Then he covered her lips with his palm and she whimpered against it. The vibrations were exquisite torture.

Pedro whispered to her ear “We cant risk having the whole set hearing you... or us.”

He could feel her body trembling against him, her hips bucking in time with his strokes. "That's it, baby," he murmured against her lips. "Let go." Pedro felt her shudder and convulse against him as the orgasm took hold. It was glorious, watching her come undone in his arms. He held her close, savoring the feeling of her body quaking under his touch. As her cries subsided, he slowly withdrew his hand from her mouth and kissed her deeply.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

Eve barely caught her breath. “Not even close to done.”

Pedro grinned. “Well, maybe it’s my turn then?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

He unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall just enough, his cock hard and already slick at the tip. Eve’s eyes flicked down, lips parting.

“Confident,” she said.

“Motivated,” he corrected.

Without another word, he grabbed her hips and lifted her to his desk on the other side of the trailer. Pedro positioning himself between her thighs.

Pedro couldn't wait another second. He didn't bother pulling down her panties, simply hooked the soaked fabric aside and thrust into her with one smooth stroke. Eve whimpered in pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him. He filled her perfectly and completely. He groaned at the sensation of her tight heat enveloping him. "Te sentís demasiado rica, weona." He muttered. You feel way too good, babe.

The trailer was filled with the sound of flesh slapping together, Eve's ragged breathing, and Pedro's deep groans. His fingers dug into her hips as he pounded into her relentlessly. The intensity of their coupling sent shockwaves through both of them, their bodies glistening with sweat. Her shirt rode up and he pushed it aside, eyes locked on her bare breasts. “Conchetumare... erís perfecta,” he growled. Holy fuck… you’re perfect.

He leaned in, capturing a nipple in his mouth, tongue circling the sensitive peak. Eve cried out, head tilting back. He switched sides, lips and tongue moving in time with his deep, punishing rhythm.

“Oh god, Pedro!” she gasped, her body arching.

He straightened, pulling out for a heartbeat before slamming back into her with force. One hand wrapped around her throat—not choking, just holding her, grounding her. “Look at me,” he rasped. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”

Her pupils blew wide, breath hitching as his cock pulsed inside her. She gripped his wrist, not resisting—anchoring.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that.”

He held her gaze as his hips moved faster, harder. The trailer rocked with every thrust. “Come for me, mi amor,” he growled.

His other hand found her clit again, rubbing firm, rhythmic circles. Eve’s mouth opened in a silent scream as another orgasm tore through her, muscles clenching around him. He groaned at the sensation, barely holding on. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Sooo fucking good…”

“Shit, Eve,” he panted. “I’m close.”

He released her throat and grabbed her hip again, pounding into her, forehead resting against hers. Their breaths tangled, bodies slick and straining.

“You feel too fucking good,” he groaned. "Tan apretadita, pa' mí." So tight, just for me.

His thrusts became more and more frantic, desperate. “Don’t stop,” she whimpered, nails biting into his skin. “Keep going.”

He grinned fiercely, giving her what she asked for. His hips slammed against hers, driving him impossibly deep. "Fuck, Eve," Pedro groaned, his body tensing as he reached the point of no return. With a final grunt, he slammed into her one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he came undone. He grasped her lower back, fingers digging in as he tried to bury himself even deeper.

They stood there, just breathing together. Eve caught a glimpse of Pedro’s watch.

“Perfect timing,” she laughed, still breathless. “Call time’s in five.”

Pedro didn’t move. Still in front of her. Still inside her. His forehead rested against hers.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice hot and uneven. “How do we walk out there and pretend this didn’t happen?”

Eve’s fingers curled into the hem of his shirt. “We don’t.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“We just pretend really well.” She smirked.

Pedro gave a crooked, breathless smile—but didn’t move. Just looked at her. Took her in.

Then, voice low and raspy, he added, “Maybe you should be in front of the camera if you think you can fake it after this.”

Eve grinned. “Nah, but I’m gonna try anyway.”

“Yeah, well…” He finally slipped out of her with a quiet groan, hands steadying her on the desk. “Now I’m sweaty, wrecked, and at least ten percent less professional.”

Eve stretched, tugging her shirt down. “Only ten?”

Pedro laughed, low and rough, already reaching for a clean towel and his water bottle. “Call time’s in three. Think we can look normal?”

She raised a brow. “I don’t know—can you act?”

He tossed her a smirk over his shoulder. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Pedro finally backed away, slipping out of her with a quiet groan.

A small pool of release hit the floor between them.

“God…” he muttered, half-breathless, half-disgusted.

Eve glanced down, winced. “Yeah. Not exactly glamorous.”

She grabbed a tissue from the counter. “But worth it.”

Pedro huffed a low laugh, already pulling up his underwear. “True.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead—brief, warm.

Eve hopped down from the desk with a wince, her legs unsteady.

“Oof,” she muttered. “Okay. That position was… aggressive.”

She cleaned up quickly, then reached for the white button-down she’d brought—tugging off her knotted tee and tossing it aside. Deodorant. A mist of perfume. She smoothed her hair, reapplied lipstick, and gave herself a once-over in the trailer mirror.��

Pedro watched her, still shirtless, drying off with a towel. His gaze was soft now, almost reluctant.

Eve buttoned up the shirt, fastened the last few buttons, and tucked it neatly into her skirt.

“I think I’m going to be five minutes late,” she said, not looking at him. “You should go ahead. Head toward Dana’s trailer so we’re not seen walking in together.”

Pedro nodded slowly, still watching her.

Then, with a small smile: “Bossy.”

Eve raised a brow. “Efficient.”

He grinned. “Clearly my type.”

Pedro kissed Eve’s cheek softly, careful not to smudge her lip gloss. Then he turned to the window, tugging the blinds open with two fingers.

The studio lot was wide awake now.

A grip wheeled a C-stand across the pavement. A cluster of extras laughed too loudly near the craft table. Someone passed Pedro’s stand-in a clipboard while Dana, perfectly made up already, leaned against her trailer, mid-conversation with the second AD.

Everything looked painfully normal. Functional. Professional.

And not one of them had the faintest clue that the face of their $75 million disaster epic had just spent twenty minutes buried inside a studio intern against a trailer desk.

Pedro blinked once. Slowly.

Then let the blinds fall shut.

He exhaled, dry and a little shaky. “Jesus.”

Eve arched a brow from behind him, still tucking her shirt. “What?”

He looked back at her, lips twitching. “Just remembering that I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

Eve smirked. “Then you’re about five orgasms and a full weekend too late.”

Pedro looked over his shoulder at her, lips tugging into something crooked and warm. “And what a weekend it was,” he said, voice low and a little awed.

Their eyes locked—just for a beat—and for all the jokes and heat and reckless timing, the air shifted. Softened.

Then Pedro cleared his throat, glanced at his watch, and stepped back.

“Alright,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “If I stand here any longer, I’m going to end up late and suspiciously glowing.”

Eve rolled her eyes, adjusting the cuffs of her button-up. “Yeah, well—interns don’t glow. We sweat and carry clipboards.”

Pedro grinned. “Then I guess I’ll see you on set… very professionally.”

“Uh-huh.” She smoothed her hair in the mirror. “Go. Before I make you late again.”

Pedro kissed the tip of her nose this time, gentle. Then, without looking back, he slipped out the trailer door like nothing happened. “See you out there, intern. Don’t let Dana catch you blushing.”

Almost like it was just another Monday.

Eve rolled her eyes, lips twitching into a small smile. God, what had they started.

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