Chapter Three

Ciska

T he entertainment area aboard NY Club Decadent Skies...

"Can you believe the audacity of the man?" Ciska snorted as she tugged at the collar that fit snugly around her throat. It was useless since the contraption had some kind of lock at the back that wouldn't budge. "Collaring me like I was his... his little puppy!"

"You do remember this is a BDSM club, right?" Willow chuckled at the debilitating glare Ciska cast her way. "It's for your own good. You're under Master J's protection for this trip. Collaring you ensures that you won't be bothered by Doms who don't realize you're a vanilla."

"I knew it was a mistake coming here," she mumbled as she once again yanked at the offending leather tethered around her throat.

Except she didn't feel at all uncomfortable. It wasn't so tight that it made her claustrophobic; to the contrary, it offered her a sense of safety... of belonging. The thought startled her at first, but once the seed was planted, the roots continued to grow. Jax Crowthorne might be a player and a huge asshat, but from the first time their eyes had clashed six months ago at W. Carter Investigations, she had felt it... his soul reaching out to hers.

Gmphf! she snorted to herself. Get a grip, Ciska. This isn't a fairytale. It's real life. You're just grasping because the damn man is too hot to handle and turns your libido into an energizer bunny.

Shifting on the barstool, she took a sip of the mocktini Jax had ordered for her.

"Why the devil can't I have the real thing? You know I love my martinis," she grumbled.

"Oh, lighten up, Ciska. You sound like a belligerent child. Look around. You can't deny that this place is amazing. Better and classier than some of the clubs we frequented. Even if you don't wish to dip your toe into the hot side of life and stay here, you can have fun. Dancing, having an amazing meal, and making new friends. You'll be surprised at the variety of people on board."

Ciska was awestruck from the moment she had set foot on the aircraft. The main deck housed the galley, where culinary delights were prepared throughout the journey. The midsection had been reimagined as an entertainment area and a sky dungeon— which she still had to see, but since Jax and Max were personally engaging with their members as part of the opening, she had been chained to the bar. Not literally, but Jax's words had promised retribution if she moved from the stool.

"Master M and I need to circle the room. Keep that cute ass planted right there. Move one inch, and you'll earn a strike for every one I count from this spot."

Even though Ciska never took orders, except from her boss, Willow, this was one time she thought it best to stay put. The glimmer in the alpha-hole's eyes had been too promising to ignore. It was as though he wanted her to disobey, as if he couldn't wait to lay his palm on her naked ass.

Oh, lord. Keep your mind off the asshat. Otherwise, he's bound to corrupt you before the flight is over!

She forced herself back to studying the plane to keep her mind off the all-too-inviting sex god.

Her eyes drifted to the stairs leading to the second tier— a conventional in-flight seating zone for takeoff and landing or for those seeking casual conversation or rest, as all seats could transform into flat beds. The uppermost level was divided into various private playrooms. Jax's personal office suite was also housed there, which apparently was off-limits to members.

"I still can't believe how they transformed this plane. It doesn't even feel like we're thousands of miles in the air."

"The plane uses a clever air system, kind of like what they have in spaceships. There are big tanks in the middle of the plane filled with special air ingredients— liquid oxygen and liquid nitrogen. These are like super-cold, compressed air. The plane has a smart system that mixes these ingredients just right, making normal air for everyone to breathe comfortably. It's like having a bit of Earth's atmosphere inside the plane, no matter how high we fly." Willow threw her hands dramatically in the air. "So, ta-da! We don't feel the cabin pressure, which is essential, especially in the dungeon during playtime."

"It must've cost them a fortune."

"Uh-huh, but it's been a dream of Max's since forever, and once that man of mine decides he wants something, he goes at it all guns blazing."

"I don't even want to guess what the membership fee is." Ciska was earning a very good salary as the IT Director of W. Carter Investigations, but looking around, she knew there was no way she'd be able to afford it.

The metamorphosis from standard cabin to opulent sanctuary was remarkable. Soft ambient lighting bathed the predominantly black, gold, and copper interior in a warm radiance. Intricate wall paneling melded old-world charm with contemporary luxury.

Off to the side, a polished dance floor shimmered beneath discreet lighting, where pairs of dancers swayed elegantly to smooth jazz melodies. A live ensemble tucked in the corner filled the air with gentle tunes, casting an enchanting spell over the space. Scattered throughout, small groups of guests were engrossed in spirited conversations. Their subdued chuckles added a pleasant hum to the vibrant atmosphere.

Running the length of the cabin was the opulent bar where Ciska sat. The glossy black marble countertop was intricately veined with golden streaks. Her eyes drifted to the shelves stocked with top-shelf liquors and sparkling crystal decanters. Strategically placed lighting added to their allure. A duo of bartenders, impeccably dressed in silky white shirts and sleek black vests, orchestrated a symphony of cocktail creation, their movements mesmerizing to watch.

Dotted throughout the space, plush seating areas upholstered in rich copper-hued velvet and buttery leather offered secluded retreats from the lively atmosphere.

"Don't know why we couldn't sit on one of the sofas. They seem much more inviting and softer than this barstool."

"Oh, for freaking hell's sake, drop the glum attitude. This is a fun place. You can take my word for it." Ciska shifted as Willow smirked and studied her for long moments. "Or is it that you can't wait for Master J to give you proper Dom attention?"

"I told you I'm only here as an observer," she shot back quickly. "I am not a submissive. Never was, never will be."

"Hmm, famous last words."

"True words. I don't have one little cell in my body that's submissive."

"Hmm... I guess that's why you're not moving from that stool and moseying over to sit on one of those luxuriously soft chairs you're eyeing?"

"Being cautious from being mauled and having my ass spanked red by a marauding asshat doesn't make me a submissive," she snickered.

"Of course, it doesn't."

"Do not patronize me, Willow Carter," she snapped irritably. If there was one thing Ciska hated, it was feeling out of control. This whole scenario was rapidly careening ass-side up, leaving her with a feeling of doom... or was it excitement? It was a foreign feeling to her since she never allowed emotions to rule her actions... not ever.

Life had been a relentless struggle for Ciska. From her earliest years, she was caught in the churn of the foster system, where her vibrant spirit and inquisitive nature were often misunderstood and stifled. Her quick wit and strong-willed personality, while admirable traits, frequently clashed with the expectations of her temporary guardians. Foster families were unprepared for her challenging questions and fierce independence and often found her too difficult to manage. That led to a string of placements that left Ciska feeling unwanted and alone.

Each rejection cut deep, leaving invisible scars on her young heart— scars that still haunted her to this day. The constant upheaval reinforced a painful belief that she was somehow unlovable, that her true self was too much for anyone to accept. She longed for someone to see beyond her defiant exterior, to recognize the vulnerable child within who craved love and acceptance. But as the years passed and the rejections mounted, hope began to fade, replaced by a protective shell of indifference.

At fourteen, a glimmer of hope appeared when the Farlow family adopted her. Initially, it seemed she had finally found her place. But fate had other plans. When Mike Farlow lost his job, the family's stability crumbled. Unable to cope with his circumstances, her adopted father's frustration turned to violence— first directed at his wife.

Ciska, driven by a fierce protective instinct, couldn't stand idly by and tried to intervene. It was as if Mike had been waiting for this moment. His rage turned on Ciska with a vengeance that shocked her to her core.

In that moment of crisis, a cocktail of emotions had surged through her— anger at the injustice, relief at finally having a clear reason to escape, and a desperate desire to protect her foster mother. But in the face of his wrath and in fear for her own life, with adrenaline coursing through her veins, sixteen-year-old Ciska ran away.

Although a part of her mourned the loss of yet another home, a stronger part surged with exhilaration. Finally, she could take control of her life and forge her own path, free from the constraints of a system that had failed her time and again. Though fear of the unknown nipped at her heels, determination propelled her forward into a liberating future— one of her own making.

Willow's snapping fingers in front of her eyes brought her back to the present. She blinked a couple of times to bury the memories back into their little compartments in her mind. Reminiscing over her childhood always made her sad, and that was the last emotion she wanted Jax Crowthorne to see.

"Where were you?" Willow watched her with worried eyes. "You seemed so far away."

"Ghosts from seasons past, as they say." She forced a bright smile on her face. "Definitely not appropriate for this fancy snazzy place, so... forget about it."

"Forget about what?"

Ciska's heart skipped a beat as Jax's deep voice resonated deep inside her. She didn't have time to turn around. The warmth of his body penetrated her skin as he pressed his chest against her back. The fingers that traced the leather collar were soft as a butterfly's touch but at the same time, emitted a possessiveness she sensed rather than felt or saw.

"Nothing you need to know," she said in what was supposed to be an assertive tone but sounded more like a breezy whisper in the wind. His fingers on her skin played havoc with her senses, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to get them under control.

"Ready for our scene, Phoenix?" Max's deep voice floated toward her as she struggled to pick up the ropes of the reins to reinforce her confidence that she could withstand Jax Crowthorne.

"Oh, I've been looking forward to it, Master M. That sex swing that Axel designed is definitely one worth waiting for." Willow winked saucily at him. "Hopefully, you have enough stamina to properly take it for its first swing."

"Oh, you're asking for it, little one." He winked at Ciska. "I know you said you're only observing, but I hope you'll be brave enough to at least consider a short play scene. Master J is quite proficient in entertaining subs."

"I'm sure he is," Ciska muttered.

"Well, you'll have some time to think it over. Come with me." Jax took her elbow and guided her through a large arch leading to the dungeon entrance. A human-sized golden cage stood to one side. Her footsteps lagged when he opened the cage and motioned her inside.

"It seems we have quite a few sassy subs on board tonight. Although early, I already have to deal with punishment, and since you're not a participating member, you'll wait here for me." He smirked. "At least I'll know you won't be up to no good locked in the cage."

Ciska gaped at him. "You're not serious?" Her eyes darted between him and the offending cage. "You want to lock me in there?" She took a step back. "Like hell!"

"I'm not asking, Nanja. I am telling you to get in. The punishment shouldn't take me longer than fifteen minutes and—"

"You're supposed to keep me under your wing. That's what Master M said. Locking me in this..." Her lips curled with disgust. "Gilded cage is definitely not keeping an eye on me." Her chin tilted back as her eyes flashed challengingly. "No need to leer at me like that, J-Ster . You're the one who said you're not letting me out of your sight, and since you locked this damn thing around my throat so that no one else will even talk to me, you are going to do just that."

"Far be it for me to correct you, but if memory serves, I said you belonged to me as my submissive for the rest of the night. In no shape or form does that mean I need to keep my eyes on you the entire time." He leaned in so close that the warmth of his breath caressed her lips. "What it does mean is that whatever instruction I give you, you will obey. So, if I want you to sit like a pretty little parrot inside this gilded cage and wait patiently for my return, that is exactly what you will do."

"Look here, asshat, I have—"

"However," his eyes turned steely and devilishly dark. "Since you have now repeatedly ignored my instruction to call me Master J and are publicly disrespecting me as your Dom and the Master of the Club, I have changed my mind. You won't need to wait for me in the cage."

"Good, since I had no intention to, anyway."

"You will, however, be tied to a spanking bench and receive a proper punishment for your recalcitrant attitude."

The words that were on the tip of her tongue disappeared in a gasp as his words registered. For the first time, she forced a guard in front of her mouth. No matter that she insisted she was only an observer, she had committed to the role of his submissive when she'd applied as Willow's guest— not that she truly understood what being a sub in a club scenario meant— but here she was, already treading shit.

Freaking flying flamingos! I should've listened when Willow tried telling me about the Dom-sub dynamics.

No shit, Sherlock.

Oh, shut up!

Logic prevailed. Ciska didn't get to the ripe age of thirty-four by acting stupid— impulsively, maybe, but never stupid. Instinct warned her that being cheeky to the powerful Dom would be extremely unwise.