Page 50 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"What if I don't want to?"

Christoph very deliberately raises the privacy screen.

And I'm done fighting this.

Done pretending I don't want her.

I kiss her.

She melts against me the instant we make contact, herbreasts pressing against my chest, then she's in my lap, dress hiked up around her thighs, hands in my hair. I grip her hips, pulling her closer, closer, never close enough.

"This is a terrible idea," she gasps as my mouth finds her neck.

"Terrible," I agree, but my hands are already sliding up her sides.

"We shouldn't?—"

"Probably not."

"The camels?—"

"Will survive."

Her laugh turns into a moan as I find a particularly delicious spot below her ear. "Connor..."

My phone buzzes. Then hers.

Then both at once.

"Don't," I murmur against her skin.

But she's already reaching for her phone, though she doesn't leave my lap.

"Oh god."

"What now? More camels?"

"Worse." She shows me the screen. "The camels found the coffee shop."

I look at the photo of three very caffeinated camels attempting to stage what appears to be a sit-in at the original Starbucks.

"That's..." I can't help it. I laugh. "That's actually impressive."

"This isn't funny!" But she's fighting a smile. "Do you know how much paperwork a coffee-addicted camel creates?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me." I brush hair from her face. "Probably with color-coded tabs."

“Again with the organizational systems?”

“They’re effective.” I pull her closer. "Though I do have some suggestions about file management..."

"If you start singing that verse again, I'm leaving."

"But it's such a good verse." I nip at her ear. "Very thorough instructions about proper folder hierarchy..."

She silences me with another kiss, and for a long moment, there are no camels, no crisis.

Her phone buzzes again.

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