Rock Hard German Billionaire

by Paris Rose

  I grabbed the arm of the seat to brace myself. My muscles clenched around his throbbing cock. He began thrusting in and out, harder and harder with each thrust. I pushed back against him to keep from falling forward. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand, and pinched my nipple as he thrust even harder. The skillful way he pushed himself inside of me was the perfect mix of pleasure and a little bit of pain. He gently tugged my hair as he grunted with every thrust. I was so turned on by the primitive sounds he was making. I felt a sharp, sensual warmth start at my core and radiate throughout my entire body. He bit my neck as he smacked my ass again, sending an electric sensation through me. I reached down and stroked my own clit. His breathing began to get heavier, and his grunting grew deeper and louder. I stroked myself faster to match the rhythm of his thrusts. I moaned as I felt myself slipping over the edge. He let out a guttural and uninhibited moan with a long, hard and powerful pump that filled me up completely. My muscles tensed and released around his cock, and I dripped all over him as we climaxed together.

  I came down as his body slowly withdrew from mine. I sat down heavy on the seat and I landed on my digital recorder. The red light was on, which meant it was still recording. Although I couldn’t tell the public that I let Christoff Diemacht Hartmann fuck my brains out at forty thousand feet, I definitely had enough material for a good story. I was gunning for my piece to get chosen as a feature.

  He stroked my hair as he stood above me. “Thank You, Giavanna.” His sexy voice gave me goosebumps. I loved hearing him say my name.

  “For what?” I asked, gazing up at him.

  “You made me feel good again.”

  “Really? Me?”

  “Yeah, really.” He kissed my forehead.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “What are you thanking me for?” he asked with a quizzical look.

  “For curing my fear of flying.” I smiled as I discreetly turned off my digital recorder and slipped it into my bag behind my back.

  “It was truly my pleasure.” He smirked sexily as he put his clothes back on.

  I grabbed my phone out of my purse to check the time. Two hours to get my story written, edited and submitted, and we were still about an hour away from Chicago. I still needed to find my laptop. It was going to be a long and intense night, but I knew I would have sweet dreams.

  Chapter 2

  The remainder of the flight was smooth with minimal turbulence, thank goodness. Christoff and I sat next to each other, and he never took his hands or his eyes off me the whole time. Whether it was touching my knee every time he made a point, or placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder every time the plane so much as tilted in the wind, we stayed connected. He calmed my frazzled nerves about my impending deadline. He didn’t really even say much, except that he was confident that I would get my story done in time. Just the sound of his melodic baritone voice soothed my soul.

  When we landed at a small private airport outside of Chicago, he summoned a town car with an app on his smart phone. He requested that one of his favorite drivers in the Midwest drive me home. Christoff had a show in California the following evening and he needed to be back for rehearsal in the afternoon, and I had my deadline to meet, plus several other articles to work on, so we parted ways. He lingered for a long time when he hugged me goodbye. Even when I started to pull away, he pulled me in tighter, as if it was the last moment we had together on earth. He eventually released me from his embrace, but he didn’t go in for a kiss, nor did he ask for my phone number. I must admit, I was slightly confused but also totally content. My night with Christoff was unlike any other I had ever had in my life, and whether this was the beginning of something grand or the end of just one night in heaven, I turned and walked away from Christoff, feeling that everything was right in the world.

  I climbed into the Lincoln Town Car, buckled my safety belt, and gave the driver, Arman, my address. He assured me that we could get to my place in less than thirty minutes, since at this hour there was no traffic. I loved being in a town car instead of a taxi. It was so much nicer, and the ride was always faster because there was no meter. We rode mostly in silence, aside from some small talk about both of our careers. I discovered Arman had been a private driver for many celebrities when he was younger, but now that he had a family, he preferred being an independent driver and serving clients on an as-needed basis. As we got closer to my apartment, Arman interrupted one of our periods of silence.

  “Miss, I hope I’m not overstepping my boundaries, but you seem nice, so I wanted to say something. Take my advice for what it’s worth. Christoff Hartmann is a great guy. I know him personally and I like him. But just do yourself a favor and try not to get too attached. Mr. Hartmann is not a man to get attached to. But you didn’t hear anything from me.” Arman winked in the rear-view mirror.

  His words made my heart sink. Why did he have to say that? What business was it of his? And more importantly: What did his words mean? I tried not to give it too much weight, but as much as I tried to dismiss what he’d said, my stomach felt sick. When we pulled up to my apartment, I was lost in my own thoughts. Arman had to tell me that I was home. I thanked him for the ride and made my way inside.

  As soon as I entered my apartment, my mind cleared and I was hyper-focused on my deadline. I tore up my apartment looking for my laptop. After over twenty minutes of frantic searching, I found my laptop bag by the door where I had just come in. My heart skipped a beat with relief. Somehow I had missed it. It was right next to my luggage, which I had also forgotten in my haste to get to my once-in-a-lifetime interview with Christoff Diemacht Hartmann. I practically dove on top of my laptop bag. My computer and some of my other work was inside.

  I sat down at my desk, fueled by pure adrenaline, and banged out a feature-worthy story about Christoff, his inspiration for his music, and the PG version of our time together. I clicked submit two minutes before the deadline, without proofreading. My fingers were crossed that there weren’t any major errors.

  I peeled off my dress and headed to the shower. I was reluctant to wash away any trace I had left of Christoff on my body, but I was eager for the hot water to saturate my skin and relieve my tense muscles. During my hour-long shower, I let my mind finally slow down. I was so relieved to get my story submitted on time. And I was beyond delighted that I had become one with Christoff Hartmann, both in body and in mind. I let out a deep sigh. I missed Christoff, even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I made a mental note to tuck all memories of tonight safely in the deepest recesses of my mind, never to escape again after tonight. As much as I didn’t want to hear it, Arman was probably right. Christoff was probably not a man I should be getting attached to. Besides, I had more important things to focus on, like my career. Christoff was just one player in the entertainment industry game. There were many more stories to be landed, and many more exciting evenings to be had. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  I quickly brushed my teeth and took my birth control pill. Thank God I hadn’t missed any pills this month. I checked again just to be sure. Gratefully, I was safe. I quickly slipped on my pajamas. I was exhausted and it was late. I turned on the air conditioner and crawled under my comforter. I loved the feeling of cozying up under the blankets with the cool air blasting on my damp skin. As exciting as L.A. was, it felt good to be home. I faded into a deep sleep almost immediately.

  I woke up with the sun beating on my face. I usually wake up before the sun rises, so the sunshine disoriented me. I looked over at the clock, It was past eight in the morning. Shit! I’m going to be late for work! I slipped on a pair of black skinny jeans that were strewn on the floor, a plain white tank top from the closet, and a thin black blazer from the back of the door. I pulled my long thick hair into a tight bun. I thank my Native American ancestors for my long dark locks, but on days like today, I didn’t want to deal with it. I used a few bobby pins to tame some of the shorter layers that were standing up on top of my head. I quickly lined
my hazel brown eyes with a light coat of liner and mascara, before slipping on a pair of sparkly silver flats. I was ready to go, except I couldn’t find my keys.

  I dumped my purse on the couch to see if they were in there. No. I checked all over the bedroom. Not there, either. Maybe they were in the bathroom. Wrong again. I grabbed my Android so I could send my boss a text, letting him know I’d be late. I saw I had a missed call from work. It was probably my boss looking for me. It took what seemed like forever to actually get into my voice mailbox. When I finally got to my messages, my boss’s voicemail made me beam with excitement. He congratulated me on doing such an excellent job on my Christoff Diemacht Hartmann story. And he went on to say I definitely had “it” as a journalist. He wrapped up the message, wishing me safe travels back to Chicago. Oh yeah! It was Tuesday, my travel day. I wasn't supposed to even be back yet. I had the day off. I was so relieved that I wasn’t late and that I didn’t have to go in. I was happy to work from home, but it was really nice not to have to go into the office today.

  I slipped off my jeans and traded them for some comfy yoga pants. And I put my blazer in the closet and grabbed a thin zip-up hoody. Yes! Dressed down and ready to work. I sat down and started sending follow up emails to all the publicists that I couldn’t get ahold of last week. I was still flying high from the success I had with my story about Christoff, but I was already looking for the next big story. I was right in the middle of crafting an email to a really prominent publicist that I had never gotten a story from before. I wanted my email to be perfect. Just as I was revising the first line for the third time I saw my Android light up. The number was restricted. I hate restricted numbers, and I often let them go to voicemail, and then I return the call as soon as I figure out who it is. But I had a feeling this could be one of the big name publicists I reached out to earlier this morning.

  “Giavanna Johnson speaking.”

  “Hello there, Gia.” The voice on the other end made my heart flutter. I recognized it instantly. It was Christoff.

  “Christoff, is that you?”

  “No, it’s the other guy with the distinct baritone voice and heavy German accent that you were expecting a call from.” His voice was deadpan, but I could tell he was smirking even though I couldn’t see him. I started to giggle almost uncontrollably. I cleared my throat loudly and dramatically to distract Christoff from my girlish giggle fit.

  “Well smarty pants, I wasn’t expecting a call from you, or any other guy for that matter. To be totally honest I was hoping it was this publicist lady…” My voice trailed off as I thought out loud.

  “Well, if we’re going to be totally honest, I actually wasn’t planning on calling you at all. But I wanted to make sure you got your story done on time, so I thought I’d follow up.”

  “How did you get my cell number?”

  “My publicist gave it to me.”

  “Oh, do you always follow up with every journalist you do an interview with?” I was legitimately curious.

  “No, not always. Actually…not ever.”

  There was a silence on the line. I was so excited that Christoff had called me directly. I almost couldn’t believe it was actually happening. I usually only talk to publicists and managers. It was a rare occasion that I actually spoke directly with a big name artist, aside from the actual interview. The fact that Christoff Diemacht Hartmann called me personally left me speechless.

  Christoff’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “So did you get the story in on time?”

  “Yeah, I did. Thank you for asking. My editor loved it.”

  “Well done.”

  “Thanks!”

  There was another silence. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding inside of my chest. After a couple of moments that seemed like an eternity, Christoff’s deep melodic voice filled the silence between us. “I have a few days off after this show tonight. We have an Awards show in L.A. this Sunday before we take off for the rest of the tour. I’m just going to stay here and enjoy the city and hang out with the band. Would you like to come out tomorrow and stay for the week?”

  “No, I can’t. I have to work this week,” I answered much too hastily. Did I just turn down a trip to one of my favorite cities with the breathtakingly gorgeous lead singer of one of my favorite bands? Gah! Part of me was kicking myself, but the stronger part of me knew I was doing the right thing. My career was more important to me than being whisked away by some rock star. I had a lot of people to get ahold of and lots of stories to pursue. I couldn’t just drop everything and run off to L.A. with Christoff. But boy did I want to.

  “Well, I could come to you. I’ll get a hotel, and I can explore Chicago during the day, and I’ll see you when you get off from work.” I was so stunned by Christoff’s persistence that I was speechless. I nodded my head but didn’t respond verbally. “Or am I being too pushy?” Christoff prodded.

  “No, no, not at all. I would really like it if you came out here.”

  “Well then, it’s done. I have to run. I’m on my way to the venue for tonight’s show. But I will get to Chicago early evening central time. Let’s meet on Michigan Avenue and walk to the lake.”

  “Yes, okay.” I tried but failed to keep my voice steady and mellow. Christoff gave me his personal cell phone number before we got off the phone, and we decided to meet at 7:30 P.M. outside my favorite gelato shop on Michigan.

  Ahhhh! I'm so excited! I immediately emailed my best friend, Amber Ryan, and told her I had a very hot date the next day. But I didn’t tell her who. Amber was in showbiz, and she liked to gossip. I didn’t want anything getting out about me and Christoff because there was no me and Christoff. The past twenty-four hours had been quite the whirlwind. I was so distracted, there was no way I was going to get any work done today.

  I decided to take myself out for mimosas and a mani-pedi. I found my keys still stuck in the door from when I am in last night. Apparently Christoff had completely blown my mind. I spent the majority of the day basking in my exhilaration about our upcoming date. When I got back to my cozy one-bedroom apartment, I lay down on the couch and grabbed my digital recorder off the coffee table. I closed my eyes and replayed my interview with Christoff. I turned up the volume when the recording got to the point where we’d had our mind-blowing intimate encounter. Listening to his voice and the sound of his breath as he penetrated me over and over again made all my blood rush to the warm wet space between my legs. I caressed my own womanhood as I anticipated my time together with Christoff. Tomorrow night couldn’t possibly come soon enough.

  Chapter 3

  At work I focused to the best of my ability, but I caught myself daydreaming about Christoff more than a few times throughout the day. As the work day was winding down, two of my colleagues asked me if I wanted to go out for drinks. I didn’t want to tell them about Christoff, so I just said I was going to work late tonight, which was partially true. The office emptied at exactly 5:30 P.M. I stayed behind to return a few calls and check my email, and I’m glad I did. I got an email from one of the most prominent publicists in the industry with the subject line: *Call Me Now*. It had just come in five minutes ago. The body of the email simply said:

  *I have a few minutes to chat but I’ll be out of the country for a month after today, so call me now.*

  I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the phone and dialed Donna DeLacruz, the publicist I had been trying to get ahold of for weeks. We ended up hitting it off really well and we talked for over an hour. She gave me breaking news on two A-Listers that a small name publication like mine would have never had access to were it not for my persistence. I was single-handedly transforming our magazine into the next big thing in the entertainment industry. My colleagues were happy doing stories on popular cover bands and underground artists, but I wanted to cover the big names like I used to out in L.A., back before I was blacklisted from the upper echelon. It was a hard fall down, but now it seemed I’d picked myself back up and was rising to the top. After I got off the phone with
Ms. DeLacruz, I banged out a draft of an article that I knew would make some waves both for my career and the pop star I was covering. I was in the zone.

  After I backed up the draft of the article on my flash drive, and emailed it to myself, I snapped back to reality. My present reality was that the international rock star I had been lusting after for years was meeting me by the lake tonight, and I was probably going to be late. I grabbed my phone to text Christoff. I felt like such an ass. How could I be late? And he had flown across the country to see me. I started to send a text, but I decided to call instead. He didn’t pick up. I got his voicemail and left a message that I was on my way. It was 7:20 P.M. and rush hour was over, so I would make good time. I ran outside to get a cab, but every cab that passed me was full. I glanced down at my phone. It was 7:25 P.M. Gah! After my fourth attempt I finally got a cab, and I directed the driver to where I was supposed to meet Christoff. It must have been my lucky day, because we got all green lights, but my stomach was still in knots from running late.

  I arrived a little after 7:40 P.M. Christoff was standing quietly when I arrived. He was wearing a thin black sleeveless shirt that clung to his athletic body, a thick heavily studded leather belt, and black pants tucked into a pair of black military style combat boots. I was drawn to his ultra-masculine stature and the intensity in his demeanor. He was larger than life. He looked pensive.

  “I’m so sorry, I’m late.”

  Christoff looked over at me without responding. He looked me up and down before drawing a breath. “I’m always on time. And if by rare occasion I’m not on time then I’m early. I don’t like waiting for anyone. I almost left.” His German accent came out hard and thick.