I look at the scattered fragments of my heart on the expensive hardwood floors. My eyes blur to the vague soundtrack of rain beating against the window pane.

　　"I'm sorry, Isis."

　　I nod. I'm sorry too.

　　Shuffling, I cut my hands on the shards of my heart, rinse it under cold water, and leave.

　　I'm sorry.

　　Why do I keep doing this?

　　I pour my heart out, knowing it only ends up discarded on the floor. Even though there summer night air is muggy, I gather my jacket together.

　　Loneliness settles over me, my own personal snow storm.

　　I can't even ask for a ride. How would I? No, I called a cab I can't afford, and rode to the other side of town.

　　The slums.

　　Do I miss the lecherous gaze the cab drivers gives me? Of course not.

　　I see it every day. I'm just praying I have enough money to scrape together.

　　I don't have anymore dignity to spend today.

　　• ••

　　I go into work that night. As usual Allure is packed. Yeah, that's where I work. God, I can't keep doing this.

　　Some of the dancers eyes me with hatred. I've been here for three years. I have no idea why they hate me so much but, I don't care.

　　I have more important things to worry about than some strippers unwanted opinions.

　　My boss, I call him Brick, he's been trying to pimp me out since I came here.

　　He might get his wish.

　　"You have two dances booked, Diamond, don't blow it," He grins sleazily, "Or do."

　　Rolling my eyes, I shoulder past him to the dressing rooms. I'm average height, brown, brown eyes, black hair. Overall, I'm nothing special.

　　I do have what they call curves.

　　Fat. Curves. About the same thing. I've never been comfortable in my own skin, but this job only makes it worse.

　　I have a client booked for nine, so I get in the room prep.

　　Some guy comes in, dressed in a suit that's obviously tailored to his muscular frame. He's not body builder big, but he's not too far off either.

　　I like it. His chest is broad, his hands are big, way bigger than mine. He's larger than life.

　　The mysterious rich man says nothing, merely waiting. I don't hesitate. This is a supposed high profile club.

　　Most of my clients are rich. But most of them are unattractive to say the least.

　　This man...

　　His eyes pierce me, grey, no, steel. He has eyes of steel, hard and cold.

　　It feels heavy on my skin.

　　Shaking my nerves, I approach him sensually, adding a slight away to my hips.

　　He's reclined on the sectional, which means I have to practically climb on his lap.

　　I sit close enough to share his body heat, but stay wedged in the small space left.

　　Now starts the waiting game.

　　I don't have to wait long. His fingers brush my arm, lightly.

　　"Are you going to talk to me, малыш?"

　　His thick accent, and deep sexy voice sends a rush of liquid down my thighs. I close then, and by the smirk on his lips, not discreetly.

　　"You're the client," I say simply, keeping my expressionless face.

　　"Tell me; what is your name?"

　　"Diamond."

　　The pads of his fingers brush my arm again. "How much?"

　　I clenched my jaw.

　　"What?"

　　"How much to fuck you?"

　　I wanted nothing more than to punch his sexy face.

　　"Sorry," I intone, "My body's not for sale. Only my time."

　　His brow quirks.

　　"Everyone has a price, baby. What's yours?"

　　"You gonna marry me?"

　　"No."

　　"You lose."

　　His lips pull up into a lopsided grin.

　　"And if I do?"

　　I shrug. "I'd say no. You still lose."

　　"Smart mouth, myshka."

　　"Thanks. I got it for free."

　　He chuckled darkly. "Keep talking and I'll make you pay for it."

　　"My mouth, or my words?"

　　"I guess you'll have to find out, myshka."

　　Paying no heed to his words, I start my dance. His hands stay on my body. I grit my teeth. Desire pulls at my gut.

　　Concentrate. Finish the dance, and go home.

　　But big strong hands push me back against a hard bulge.

　　"The way you move your body myshka," He murmured in my ear, nibbling on it, "Has me in a trance."

　　I don't answer him, but my blood heats up.

　　What is it about this man that makes my body heat, and my thoughts scatter?

　　You'd think given my...line of work, I'd be used to the attention. But usually, I don't have physical contact with my clients. I dance, and I leave.

　　But this man...

　　I can't think with his hands on me.

　　"Th...the dance-" I breathlessly stammer. His lips brush my shoulder.

　　I shiver at the sensation of his soft lips grazing my flesh.

　　"Is over, Myshka. Tell me: how would you like to belong me?"

　　"I don't know you," I reprimand him and myself.

　　He pulls back, and from the rustling behind me, I know he's undressing.

　　"Then get to know me, little one. Come, we can get to know one another very well."

　　"No," I say sternly. "No, I'm not a prostitute. And you are a stranger."

　　"Little one, take me for a ride once or twice, and we will be well aquatinted, I promise."

　　"I could have diseases, or-"

　　"You are clean. The only problem is-"

　　"I still don't know you."

　　"And if I said I knew you?"

　　Suddenly, I remember the feeling of lead on my skin. But...

　　"I would say...that's hella creepy."

　　A small smile spreads across his face.

　　"What do you want with me?"

　　"It's actually quite simple," he grinned mischievously, pulling me into his body. "I want to pound into you relentlessly, mercilessly, until you scream my name, and cream all over my cock. Then I want make slow, sweet love to you, all night."

　　He fondled me breasts as he murmured all the provocative things he wanted to do in my ear.

　　"Then I wanna do it all over again."