Page 25 of Hard Lessons

Only then Luca had been with her.

She squirmed on the seat, remembering her last night with him—her last orgasms that weren’t at her own hand.

Damn, she missed that guy with his big hard cock, kinks, and expert handling of her body. He knew when she needed to be tied to a bed and fucked over and over until she was exhausted. He understood that sometimes being taken past her comfort zone was the only way to satisfy a deep, dark need in her. Without fail he pleasured her with a burning intensity no other lover had ever had, whether he was taking her mouth, her pussy, or her ass.

The driver took another right. A turn she hadn’t been expecting.

She glanced forward and frowned, beating down a tingle between her legs. Thinking of Luca always created a real, physical longing for him—one that would never be satisfied, not now. “This isn’t the way to Heathrow.”

“There’s a traffic hold-up. I’m avoiding it.” He tapped the screen on the satnav.

“Ah, okay.”

“I’ll get you where you need to be, don’t worry about that.”

He was a fellow Italian, going by his faint accent. Not that Serena had any intention of engaging with him.

She linked her fingers, a twist of nerves catching in her stomach. The last thing she needed to do was miss this flight. It was part of her grand plan to escape Luca’s wrath.

The taxi ground to a halt behind a double decker bus.

“Are you sure this is the best way?” she asked.

“Yes, this is the best way.”

She sighed. Actually, she was still pretty damn mad at Luca for getting himself arrested within hours of landing on British soil. All of his promises to her about their new life had evaporated the moment those cuffs clicked around his wrists—and it was his fault they’d been fitted. Why hadn’t he known a UK bank would report a suspiciously large cash withdrawal from a prominent figure?

He should be concerned about my wrath.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her lipstick. Wound it up and reapplied. It was a sultry dark red, new from Harrods, and called Devil’s Kiss. It wasn’t dissimilar to the one she’d worn for David Watson. The one Luca had accused her of wearing to invite a blowjob.

The bloody cheek of him.

The driver looked at her in the mirror.

She frowned and angled away from him. If he was thinking about a blowjob he could fuck off.

A sign for Shepherd’s Bush crept passed.

Shepherd’s Bush?

Serena brought up her mental map of London. They were heading north now, away from the airport. There was no chance this would get her there in a timely manner.

“Excuse me.” She leaned forward and gripped the back of the passenger seat. There was no partition.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you know the way?”

“I do.”

“So how come we’ve gone past the turning for the M25, the route to the airport?”

“I have to inform you, ma’am, we’re not going to the airport.”

As he’d spoken, the locks clicked on all four doors in the cab—a sudden ominous sound that thudded against her eardrums.

“What?” Her heart rate shot up, adrenaline spiked in her veins. “Why the hell not?”

---