Terms Of Their Costa Rican Temptation

pushed at her muscles, filling her bit by bit but so completely. He never broke eye contact the entire time. Her eyes drifted closed as she got used to the incredible feeling of him within her. And when he pushed further, closer to that indefinable place that she both craved and wanted to delay, her eyes burst open to see him watching her in wonder.

He hadn’t been talking about an orgasm, she realised—what Benoit had said about pleasure. It wasn’t about an end goal, some point to achieve, but the feeling of luxuriating in ongoing pleasure—that was what he’d been talking about and that was what he was doing now. Unfurling a seemingly endless wave of pleasure and delight, filling her, overwhelming her, building within her until it poured over and out of her.

For what felt like hours Benoit moved within her, slowly, deeply, incredibly. Sweat slicked their bodies, the air was heated with cries and moans of delight, building a fire within them both. Her hand slid down the side of his body, around the curve of his ass, his hip, and a thread of excitement lit within her as she found where they were joined together.

Her only warning was his growl and then all she could do was hold on in utter glory as he thrust into her again and again, deeper, faster, harder, and her mind could barely register the pleasure that was raining down over her. Her panting met his growls, her fingers flew to his shoulders and her nails dug into his skin; his grip on her hips became an anchor until her breathing began to stutter as she got closer and closer...

‘Skye—’

‘Oh, God.’ She couldn’t help the words falling from her mouth. Encouragements, pleas, demands, threats...all were uttered as he drove them off a cliff face into bliss.

CHAPTER NINE

THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD...

At first Skye thought the sound was coming from her body, her heartbeat still erratic from her night with Benoit. But when she lifted herself onto her hands, his plush mattress cushioning her wrists, she realised it was something else. She was about to ask Benoit what was going on when she saw the door to his bedroom swing closed.

The rhythmic sound continued for a little longer before slowing to a stop. The sun had risen and soft beams of light were filtered through the thick foliage outside the windows.

She sat and turned, bringing the high thread count sheets to her chest, the motion making her aware of a pleasurable ache between her legs and she felt...amazing. A flush rose to her cheeks at the memory of what they had shared the night before—the way Benoit had held her as she had come apart in his arms more than once. Even thinking of it brought echoes of the pleasure she had experienced and she fisted her hands against the memories.

One night... It will never be enough.

She had been so sure of herself when she’d only had Alistair as a reference. But now she knew. She knew better. He’d been right. One night was not enough.

Benoit pushed into the room, the door bouncing back against the wall, and she sat further up in the bed.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked, shocked at the sudden transformation.

‘The helicopter. It’s here. Apparently someone found the car, contacted the police, who alerted my great-aunt. I have to—’ He stopped himself. Took a breath. ‘We are going back to France. Now.’

The helicopter ride was incredible. Much like the jump from the waterfall, it was over in what seemed like even half a second and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hurtling towards an ending she wasn’t prepared for. Even though, surely, if she was marrying Benoit then she had another three years? But the speed with which she found herself being led up the ramp of a private plane at Limón Airport made her feel slightly nauseous.

She frowned as she saw Benoit handing over a key. It was the key for the locker where she had left her bags and, more importantly, her phone charger. Her sisters. The map. She was horrified that she’d almost forgotten them.

A flight attendant, picture perfect with bright red lipstick and an immaculately clean pressed uniform, asked if she would like a drink. Skye shook her head, feeling completely out of her depth. She must have looked a fright in torn linen shorts and a clearly Benoit-sized white shirt. She was led to a seat she was afraid to use in case her clothes were too dirty or that she would damage it. She had known that Benoit was rich, but this? She shook her head.

‘Ça va?’ he asked.

She leaned her head to one side, not quite sure how to answer the question.

‘My clothes, they’re...’

‘You’re worried about your clothes?’ he asked as if he too was finally considering all the things that they did have to worry about.

A gentle laugh fell from her lips. ‘I’m not sure that even my luggage contains clothing suitable for...’ what is about to happen, she finished silently. She wasn’t sure she was suitable for what was about to happen.

‘I’ll arrange for you to have suitable clothes upon arrival in France.’

‘You know my size?’ Skye instantly regretted the way her voice squeaked at an unreasonably high pitch on the last word.

He simply looked at her. The old arrogant, monosyllabic Benoit was back, but this time she saw memories of last night dance across the icy blue depths.

Benoit went to check in with the pilot and complete the necessary paperwork, and all Skye was left with was a sense of foreboding. As if soon being able to turn on her phone had conjured the fear that something awful had happened, that her sisters had been trying desperately to contact her, that everything had gone wrong in her absence. So by the time Benoit’s assistant rolled her luggage along the jet’s small gangway she was ready to burst.

‘Mademoiselle?’ he offered.

‘Merci, merci.’ She batted the small man aside and dragged the case onto the table in front of her, unzipped the hardened top and thrust in a hand to retrieve her charger. She plugged it into the socket she had already identified and scrabbled for her phone in her handbag. She probably looked like a madwoman but Skye didn’t care. She had to wait another infuriating two minutes while her completely dead phone registered enough charge to turn on, but finally the flashing green battery image appeared and it sprang to life in her hands. She quickly turned down the volume, expecting a barrage of twenty or more beeps from a series of increasingly worried messages from her sisters... But there was nothing.