Chapter One

Violet

L.A. Club Decadent Skies, soon after the opening ceremony, GoldenEye Airbus III, forty thousand feet above the North Pacific Ocean…

“Well, shit. Why didn’t anyone tell me the damn man is even sexier in real life than in the tabloids?” Violet Russo muttered irritably as she stared at Dexter Flint, Master Dom and owner of L.A. Club Decadent Skies and the GoldenEye Airbus III. “Why couldn’t he be a grouch or as ugly as sin? It would make my life so much easier.”

“What was that?”

“Er… nothing.” She flashed a tentative smile at the barman. “I have a bad habit of talking to myself, I’m afraid.”

“Can get a nice little subbie like you into trouble in a place like this.” He shrugged with a grin at her sharp glare. “As would a look like that. On the other hand, perhaps it’s exactly what you’re aiming for. I, for one, pegged you as a brat the moment you came aboard.”

“How would you know what would get me into trouble? Isn’t this the maiden flight and opening night of the club?”

“It is, but I’ve been with the owners of the CDS Group for many years. Also, I’m familiar with the kind of Doms who are members of our clubs.” He wiggled his brows. “Cooper Baxter, at your service… or when I play in the dungeon, Master Coop.”

“Pleased to meet you, Master Coop.” Violet had been an on-off submissive at local BDSM clubs for the past five years. Sometimes, it was an irritant that her natural submissive immediately kicked in when in the presence of a powerful Dom. Master Coop might appear congenial and friendly behind the bar, but he exuded a silent force that warned her that he was a dominant not to be toyed with. “I’m known as Spitfire.”

Violet cringed as Cooper’s laughter boomed through the room, drawing the attention of many members mingling in the entertainment cabin. To her dismay, even Dexter Flint glanced over, and his attention didn’t stray from her.

“Oh, you are definitely going to be popular.” Cooper peered at her legs. “I hope your knees can cope with what’s heading your way, subbie.”

“Meaning?” She shifted on the chair, all too aware that Dexter Flint was still watching her with an animated expression.

“Your sub name itself is going to be like a red flag to a bull to these Doms. Add to that, which I’m relatively sure is a healthy dose of sass, and you’ll be on all fours… either spanked until your ass glows or fucked into Kingdom come all night long.” His smile broadened. “Pity I’m on bar duty for this leg of the flight, otherwise, I’d be the first to stake a claim.”

“Well, it is a weekend trip, Master Coop. Surely, you won’t be on duty the entire time?” Violet resolutely ignored the unease skittering down her spine at the eyes still boring into her from the other side of the cabin. If there was one thing she had been taught from a young age, it was to never show your hand. The mighty Master Dom didn’t need to know he was her target. In the end, success would only be guaranteed if he was the hunter and she the prey.

In the meantime, you’ll just play on this gorgeous man’s feelings, right?

Don’t even start on me. The end justifies the means.

In our family, it always does, right?

You know I’d rather be anywhere but here doing this tonight.

I also know everything in life offers a choice. You made yours by coming here.

Violet’s lips thinned as her inner voice mocked her attempt to absolve herself of the path she was on. If only it was as simple as choosing between yes and no. It wasn’t… not with her family.

“Could I have a vodka martini, please?” she asked sweetly, adamant not to allow the actual reason she was on board the GoldenEye Airbus III to sour the experience. She hadn’t been to a BDSM club in over a year, so she was looking forward to an intense scene that would empty her mind and allow her to focus only on pleasure.

Master Coop’s one eyebrow trailed upward. “Are you scening tonight?”

“If I can find a Dom who has what it takes to keep my mind from wandering, indeed I do.”

“Then I’m afraid it’ll have to be a mocktini. Club rules. No submissive is allowed liquor prior to a scene. Once you’re done, I’ll be happy to give you the hard-core version.”

Violet’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Well, who am I to oppose club rules?” she purred as the familiar rhythm of club etiquette settled around her like a well-worn cloak. “A mocktini it is, then.”

She wrapped her fingers around the cool stem of the glass when Cooper slid the drink across the marbled bar top moments later. Keeping her gaze locked on Master Coop, she steadfastly ignored the temptation to peek at Dexter Flint’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Yet, she couldn’t shake the prickling awareness of his eyes on her that fluttered like a teasing caress against her skin. His unexpected scrutiny was disconcerting. She’d planned to fly under his radar initially but now found herself squarely in his crosshairs.

Lifting the glass to her lips, Violet took a tentative sip. The mocktini was a symphony of flavors—bright citrus notes danced on her tongue, followed by the subtle sweetness of fresh berries. A hint of herbs, basil perhaps, added depth and complexity. The drink was refreshing, and its effervescence tickled her palate.

“Hmm, this is a delightful mocktini, Master Coop,” she cooed as she savored each sip, and found herself grudgingly impressed by Master Coop’s skill in crafting such a nuanced, non-alcoholic concoction.

“My vodka martini is even better. Be sure to come by once you’re done in the dungeon.”

“I definitely will.”

Despite the delightful distraction of her drink, Dexter’s gaze boring into her remained an unsettling presence. Violet resisted the urge to fidget, to turn and confront him. Instead, she focused on maintaining her composure, using each sip as a small act of defiance against her growing discomfort.

It wasn’t until she’d nearly drained the glass that she felt the intensity of his stare lift. Only then did she swivel on the barstool to finally take in the surroundings with wide-eyed appreciation.

Violet marveled at the transformation of the plane. This was more than just a club; it was a sanctuary of indulgence and intrigue that floated thousands of miles above Earth.

The space was a masterpiece of luxury and design and a far cry from the utilitarian airplane cabin it had once been. Soft, ambient lighting cascaded from the ceiling, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow that played off the rich black, bronze, and deep emerald-green color scheme. The walls, adorned with intricate paneling, spoke of old-world opulence seamlessly blended with contemporary sophistication.

To her left, a gleaming dance floor caught the light with its polished surface, reflecting the graceful movements of couples swaying to the sultry jazz flowing from a live band in a corner. The music, soft and invigorating, wove through the air, creating an intimate atmosphere that seemed to pulse with a promise of debauchery.

The bar, artfully crafted along the length of the cabin, was a work of precision. Its surface of black marble, shot through with veins of emerald and bronze, mirrored the drinks and faces of the patrons. An impressive array of premium liquor and crystal decanters gleamed enticingly on the glass shelves. Master Coop and the other two bartenders were impeccably dressed in dark green leather vests with black leather pants. They moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of practice as they created each drink with spectacular ease.

Scattered throughout the space were plush seating areas, upholstered in sumptuous dark green velvet and rich leather. These intimate alcoves promised comfort and discretion with their inviting textures as an unspoken invitation to sink in and stay awhile.

“Now I understand why the inaugural attendance for non-members was so expensive,” she said sotto voce. “I don’t even want to know what their quarterly membership fee is.”

Not that it mattered since she wouldn’t become a regular attendee. Her main goal of being at the opening of the club was to ensnare Dexter Flint. From his obvious interest earlier, she was already partly successful.

“All I have to do now is ensure he becomes completely infatuated with me.”

Cringing, with her whispered words echoing in her mind, Violet turned back to the bar. They sounded so callous, which, if she was honest with herself, was the intention. She wasn’t here to form any kind of relationship with the man, or Master D, as he was known at Club Decadent Skies. Her sole purpose was to use him, Firstly, to find out who was setting up her family, and secondly, to solicit his help to keep her father and brothers out of prison.

“Congratulations, Master D.” Violet froze as Master Coop addressed a presence behind her, one she had sensed seconds before he spoke. “You have drawn a full house for the opening.”

“Of course, Master Coop. Did you expect anything less?”

Seriously ? He wasn’t only sex on legs. No, the damn man had to have the deepest, darkest, and most velvety voice. Every syllable wrapped around and coerced the submissive inside her.

Violet’s resolve crumbled as Dexter Flint’s presence engulfed her. She fought against the magnetic pull as she desperately attempted to keep her eyes averted, but the sheer force of his proximity was overwhelming. His aura brimmed with confidence and raw power and seemed to reach out to caress her skin. Involuntary shivers raced down her spine.

Too close. He is too close. The mantra echoed in her mind, in a futile attempt to maintain control. Despite her best efforts, her gaze was inexorably drawn to the mirror behind the bar, where their eyes locked in a silent, electric confrontation.

Dexter’s imposing figure loomed over her, his height accentuating the difference between them. Even with her respectable medium stature, he towered above her, easily surpassing six feet. Violet’s eyes hungrily traced the contours of his body. The dark green leather vest, similar to Master Coop’s, clung to his form and revealed a rippling physique that spoke of strength without crossing into the realm of excessive musculature.

His hair, a glorious mane that awakened visions of a primal animal, kissed the collar of his shirt while framing a face that seemed crafted by the gods themselves. The man was a masterpiece of perfectly aligned features. Another shiver shimmied down her spine as her gaze moved over his straight nose to settle on full, utterly kissable lips. One, that promised both pleasure and danger. His clean-cut jaw looked sharp, with angles catching the light in a way that made Violet’s breath catch.

It wasn’t fair that a man was that gorgeous and, in her opinion, completely irresistible.

But it was his eyes that truly captivated her. Silvery gray, like storm clouds on the horizon, they glimmered with an intensity that shocked Violet out of her trance. Those eyes held secrets, promises, and a hint of something that made her heart race with trepidation.

This man spelled danger, and if she wanted to achieve success, she had to keep him at a distance—more specifically, an emotional distance. The slight smile playing on his lips warned her he was acutely aware of the effect he had on her. The realization threatened to completely unravel her equilibrium. Every fiber of her being screamed that Dexter Flint was a force to be reckoned with—too attractive, too sexy, and far too dominating for her to handle.

Staring at him, she was caught in his gravitational pull, and Violet’s carefully laid plans began to fray at the edges. The power emanating from every inch of his body confirmed her worst fears—the debonair Dexter Flint might indeed be too much for her. As his presence enveloped her, leaving her intoxicated and filled with warmth, Violet questioned whether such a feat was at all possible.

Perhaps I just bit off more than I can chew.