The Revolution by S.L. Scott Page A

the project and done a preliminary design board.”
    He hops off the counter and comes closer, trapping me between his arms. When he leans, he bends forward until he’s eye level. “I meant what I said earlier. I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
    “You didn’t try hard enough.” I gulp from the intensity as I drag my finger down the front of his shirt.
    “I didn’t want to try. I rather liked the memories, but seeing you here now…” he sucks in a rough breath, “I don’t want to talk about the house.” His lips meet mine and the two-day absence feels like a year when enjoying the bliss of this sweet pressure. I’m picked up and set on the counter. The surface is cold, the granite slick and expansive. A hard bulge teases between my legs as he pulls me to the edge, harder against him.
    I lie back, my arms draped over my head. The top button of my jeans is opened, but he leaves that area, distracted by my exposed stomach. My shirt is pushed up as he slides his hands over my skin. Then I’m left alone. My head pops up and I anchor myself on my elbows to stare at him. “What happened?”
    With an arrogance written across his face I know he can back up, he leans against the opposite counter, and says, “I think we should eat first.”
    My gaze darts to the erection in his jeans. “Really? ’Cause it looks to me like you’d rather do other things first.” Then it hits me as I glance around. “Is this about respect? You know, you don’t want to treat me bad and do it here on the counter or whatever?”
    He scoffs. “Fuck, no. I have no problem disrespecting you on the counter, or anywhere else for that matter.” His hand rubs over his cock. “I just thought I should at least feed you once before fucking you.” He comes over and grabs my ankles. One swift pull and I’m face to face with him again with my feet on the ground. When I wrap my arms around his neck, he kisses me once on the lips and again on the neck. “Let’s eat and then I’ll be more than happy to disrespect you several times over.”
    He’s addicting.
    Body.
    Mind.
    Voice.
    I’m head over feet completely addicted to him.

 
     
     
    KAZ PROPERLY DISRESPECTED me twice before I drove home. I considered staying after being invited, but since he had no furniture we would have to go back to the place he shared with Derrick. If I had to see Derrick like that I’d feel like one of many and that’s just not a self-esteem issue I was ready to deal with after leaving his house on a high.
    The next day I’m back out at his house with Lane. Kaz and Tommy show up after we have measured the three rooms we’re starting on first.
    I try to remain professional, but why does Kaz have to have that dimple in his chin? Those eyes that seem to darken when his gaze lands on me? That damn shirt that fits like it was tailored to show off all his hard work in the gym? And I can’t ignore the jeans that highlight his awesome ass. He makes it so hard to resist and resisting is exactly what I should be doing on a client call.
    Tommy is asking questions, curious about my creative process. “Do designers have visions or is that something I got from TV?”
    I lean down and drop the measuring tape into my bag. “Sometimes I get visions and see a space’s finished design in my head.”
    Kaz steps forward and with his hand pressed gently to my lower back, he says, “I can take you out back and show you the pool and hot tub.”
    “I love hot tubs.” I admonish myself the second the words come from my mouth. “Sorry. That sounds so pervy.” I shrug. “But I do despite the germ reports.”
    Smiling, his eyes light with laughter. “No worries. I’ll have it thoroughly cleaned for you. Unless you want to live dangerously and take a dip.”
    I should almost feel ashamed for acting this way in front of Lane and Tommy. Almost . But I don’t. I’m happy on the inside and that kind of happiness can’t be contained on the outside. “I don’t have a suit with