Page 14 of Property of Lucian

7

Chapter 7

Haylee

My heart was pounding through my chest and was positive I may die from an early heart attack when Lucian locked the bedroom door.

Sex I could do. Sex was meaningless. But an honest conversation. Fuck. Someone save me!

I took a sharp breath in and sat down on the couch in front of the television. I wasn’t sure what Lucian’s getting to know me meant. Did it involve actually talking because honestly, I’d rather fuck.

I watched him light a cigarette and hold it between his teeth. He looked at me like I was piece of art he was finally understanding.

He then took the cigarette out and extended it to me.

I looked at it and knew my cravings were going to go into overdrive after a small puff. I had withdrawn from them the best I could, but I was still taking every chance I could get to get second-hand smoke.

I inhaled the cigarette and closed my eyes, letting the smoke come out of my nose. Fuck, I needed that.

I was going to take another hit of the tobacco and marijuana cigarette.

My eyes opened when a soft kiss brushed across my lips. And then he was pulling me to him on the couch. My legs went on either side of his thighs, straddling him, still holding the cigarette.

Holding the cigarette to his lips, he in haled and then he brought my lips to his and he blew the smoke into my mouth. I exhaled it upwards, out of both our faces. He kissed me again, this time biting my bottom lip before withdrawing. We continued the pattern—kiss, smoke inhale, smoke exchange, smoke exhale.

As we both begun to get high from the mixture of blends, our kisses got more intense, deeper. Just as we finished the last cigarette in the packet and I butted the cigarette out in the ashtray, he flipped me to my back.

I think the whole getting-to-know-me thing had disappeared. He just wanted to explore my body and it was his to explore.

He planted a kiss on my rib cage. “What does this mean?”

I clenched my mouth shut, unsure if really wanted the answer.

“Haylee,” he growled, and I nodded my head.

“It’s means I was there for the Vegas Slaughter.” I looked down at the snake on a sword. “Those who survived got the tattoo.”

“This one.” His finger ran over the tattoo under my belly button.

“Um, it stands for the gang I was in.”

“Was in?”

“I’ve been in a few. I should have that one blacked out,” I admitted. “Should have burnt it off.”

His head snapped up and he looked up at me.

“What, have you never had a tattoo burnt off?” I frowned. Surely, he had. “In my way of life, everyone has had at least one gang mark removed.”

“Normally girls don’t experience that,” he gritted out. “Which one did you get burnt out?”

“Thigh . . . it was just initials.”

He pushed my skirt up, looking for the ruined tattoo, and sure enough he found it. The glare I got when he found it made me wish I hadn’t revealed that to him.

“What do you have on your back?”

“Nothing,” I answered. “My back is going to be clean of ink. I don’t see the point in getting tattoos where I can’t see them.”

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