Page 75 of Stolen Beauty

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“Lilyana, darling! Here’s my card. Lunch on Friday?”

“Ms. Kisleva, you were a revelation! We’d love an exclusive.”

“Tell me you’re looking for representation. We’d be honored to have you on our books!”

“I’ll compose for you, and we can put together a tour.”

There’s a flurry of smiling faces everywhere I turn, all vying for a place beside me so they can talk up a magazine deal or management contract. I cope fine for a while, but eventually, the constant droning chatter wears on me, and Arman takes my hand, waving at the crowd.

“Ms. Kislev will get back to you all in good time,” he says. “Leave her alone now. She needs her solitude.”

The people around me nod and murmur respectfully, filing out of the Carnegie Club. My family members leave, congratulating me for the thousandth time as they go until only Arman, Heidi, and I are left.

Heidi looks at her phone screen with a frown. “It’s kinda late for the Prof to be sending me an invitation to come over for dinner, right?”

“Depends on what he wants to eat,” Arman replies, and Heidi shoots him a look. “What? I’m just saying. He probably wants to return the favor.”

“Should I go?” Heidi asks me.

I shrug. “Up to you. But I wouldn’t be angling for a ring just yet. He’s a lot older than you, and he’s your teacher.”

“Not any more!” Heidi giggles. “Okay, I’m gonna get a cab.” She kisses my cheek. “You’re amazing. Catch you later.”

We watch her go, and Arman takes me in his arms, glancing around the deserted bar. “I gotta say, that whole teacher-student thing has got me thinking,” he murmurs into my hair. “You still have much to learn, moya zhena, and I hired this place until midnight. Whaddayasay we have some fun right here?”

“You’ve got some nerve calling me your wife,” I say. “When the compère called me Lilyana Kisleva, I couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t you give them my married name? God knows you went to enough trouble to inflict it on me!”

“You’re mine, and I’m proud of that,” he cups my ass, kneading it, “but when it comes to your career, I’ll take a back seat and be here to support you. That means you perform under your name.” He grins. “Out here, I’m just Mr. Lilyana.”

“If you say so. Sir.”

Arman narrows his eyes, a flush creeping up his neck. I haven’t called him that again since the first time, when he told me there would be consequences. I hope he wasn’t joking.

“You wanna play with me, baby girl?” He drops a quick but deep kiss onto my lips. “Because seeing my woman achieve her dreams is a tremendous turn-on, but I won’t lie; I’d love to knock your ass down a peg or two. You know, remind you who’s boss.” He swats my butt cheek. “Is that acceptable to you?”

I nod, but we both know it’s not a question. Even when I’m running things, I only ever have the illusion of control, and that’s just how I like it. There’s a profound freedom in submitting to someone I trust so deeply.

Arman picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bar and sets me down on the shiny walnut surface, sliding my dress up my waist. “Let’s see what you’ve remembered from our first lesson,” he says. “I’ll be kind and give you a head start, but then it’ll be your turn.”

I sigh as he presses his thumb against the smooth jersey fabric of my panties. They’re the seam-free kind and reach up to my naval.

“Sorry about my unsexy underwear,” I say. Arman laughs and presses harder, my wetness coming through.

“As far as I’m concerned, your panties need to do only one thing: keep you comfortable. Although,” he rubs the material against my clit, making me flinch, “you should wear these more often. The white looks amazing when it’s soaked.”

He folds his fingers, his knuckles either side of my opening, and molds the soft fabric against my pussy lips. I moan in frustration—he’s touching me, yet not touching me, and it’s driving me crazy.

“Don’t tease me too much,” I murmur.

“I won’t. He reaches down, and I hear the sound of his zipper. “I’m gonna make you tease yourself. Put your hand inside your panties.”

He removes his fingers, and I do as he says, enjoying the feel of my fingertips. I go straight for my clit, but as our eyes lock, I pause.

Arman smiles. “Are you waiting for your instructions?” he asks. “Okay. Be a good girl and stroke your pussy. Just around the outside; don’t put your fingers in.”

I move my fingers, and he watches from beneath lowered lids. He puts his hands on my knees, pressing my legs apart so he can see better, and bites his lip.