I've worked a lot of jobs in my life. I've washed dishes, waited tables, cleaned rooms in cheap motels and fancy hotels. I've bumped into a few celebrities along the way too. Most are okay people. They all tend to be a little bit full of themselves. I think it's some kind of requirement or something. You have to be after the fame and fortune for some internal reason. Every single one of them has struck me as being at least a tiny bit arrogant. Well, so far.

I have to say the cast of the Walking Dead are exceptions to the rule. Them and the two dudes from Supernatural. Never met more down to earth people than them. Never a snotty attitude, never the air of being at least a little above me or any of the other 'help.' So now, at the hotel where there's a dinner going on to honor one of their producers, Greg Nicotero, also a really cool dude, I have the job of keeping up with everybody's jackets.

Winters in Georgia are pretty mild and Atlanta is no exception. This far south you get some snow, rarely, and it never stays around long. Fine by me. I grew up in West Virginia, where sometimes the winters were mild but there were weeks at a stretch where the days and nights were so bitterly cold you just couldn't seem to get warm. Shit even sounded cold, like the wind blowing past my window. Georgia didn't have that problem. Summers were like living in Satan's back yard but fuck it. I'll take the heat. I like my job, I like where I live. I have a good life.

Right now I've slapped a tag on a coat belonging to someone decidedly not famous but lucky enough to be invited to attend. All the main cast are here and they've all been really nice, tipping me generously, actually looking me in the eye like I exist. Good people. Now I'm trying to find some spare room. The place is packed and wrack room is sparse. I'm gonna have to dig deep, go to the back, squeeze my way in through furs and leather and wool and just hope I can find my way out again. I'm almost to the back when I hear their voices.

Whoever they are I have a damned good idea they're up to no good. Why else hide in the back of a coat closet? I stop and listen and at once recognize the voices. It's the leading man, Andy Lincoln, and the woman who plays Michonne, Danai Gurira. There's smacking sounds, definite kissing, and breathlessness, and then her voice.

"This isn't right."

"I know."

"Fuck!"

He's done something to her. Something that must feel really good because her breathing is very heavy. So is his.

"Andy…please…don't…"

"Don't make me stop, Dannie."

My pussy is now almost as wet as hers. Holy shit. I admit it. I'm Richonne trash and I've always enjoyed how Andy wants Richonne to happen on the show. Now I know why. He's fucking his costar.

I really wanna be disappointed in him. He's got a wife and kids. From what I can tell this looks like a new thing between him and Danai. I push aside some leather thing Norman Reedus wore and there they are, in the back, where the light barely reaches them. Andy's struggling with Danai's big dress, lifting it up. Not a lot can be seen and that's what makes it so hot. He's working her panties off, she's got her head thrown back against the wall, her hands above her, gripping a couple of the rods that hold up the hangers.

There's the very distinct sound of a zipper, Andy's pants fall and I get a glimpse of that cute little butt of his. God, it is that thing tiny. His ass, I mean. I can't see his dick, but I can see Danai's face when he starts pushing it in. She looks torn between pleasure and pain and I swallow, watching her as she throws her long legs around Andy and he holds her up before he starts just rolling his hips.

Fucking hell! He must have a cock on him, and Danai must really be into it, because she's so fucking wet I can hear it. Every thrust is a wet noise and her face looks like he could either be torturing her with a huge cock or…well…no, that's pretty much it. It's pleasure and pain for this woman.

"Harder," she whimpers.

Goddamn it. I wanna drop no-name's coat and finger myself. Danai is such a beautiful woman. Andy's so hot, especially holding her in the air and fucking her senseless, giving her what she wants. Giving it to her really fucking good, judging by the way he starts pounding that pussy. I can smell it now, her arousal, and it's making Andy moan. I honestly don't know how Danai isn't screaming right now, with the pounding that Andy's laying on her. I'm standing there, sweat on my brow, my own pussy throbbing, wishing I was Danai, wishing he'd screw me senseless against some dusty coat room wall. She's taking it like a champ, too, her whimpers mixing in with his grunts. He's close. I can just feel it. So is she.

They're both grunting hard, and goddamn it, does he make the most beautiful sound when he comes! Danai whimpers but Andy…his cries into her shoulder are enough to almost make me lose it watching him. His ass is tight as a vice as he pumps his load into her and she doesn't raise an objection. I back way, because she's going to open her eyes any second and see me.

"Ms. Gurira, Mr. Lincoln," I say casually, pretending to run into them in the hall leading to the cloak room. They've cleaned up nicely, their skin is still a little flushed but the sweat is gone. I think they've made trips to the bathroom to clean up.

They both nod, they both smile, neither of them gives even a hint that anything had happened, that he hadn't just nailed her like his dick was a sledgehammer. She didn't act like she had taken a load of his jizz just minutes before. They head into the banquet hall where there are speeches still going on and take their seats.

Fuck. They sure can act.