In Too Deep, Book 1, Part 5

[image: VitalikRadko]

Chapter 8: Perspective

"Spit it out, man. You're giving me a woody."

I laughed, more to clear the nervousness from my voice than out of humor. “So you once said that we could talk...about stuff?”

“Ah, I follow. I follow. Meet me at Leo’s out in Hollywood? It’s discrete, and away from anyone we’d regularly see.”

A half-hour later, I was sitting at Leo’s, a martini bar that was one of the last places I’d figure a guy like Ty Lawrence, Sergeant in the LAPD would haunt. Guess that was kind of the point. Ty hadn’t arrived yet, giving me a few precious moments to consider why I’d actually called him. I couldn’t very well give him details on the case, of course, but my emotional state was open. Of course, I wasn’t sure how much of my emotional state I wanted to share, either.

Ty arrived halfway through my first martini, wearing a graphic t-shirt and a pair of jeans that would have looked completely out of place at Leo’s were we not at a Hollywood bar. As far as strange sightings here, Ty would have barely registered had he shown up dressed as Santa Claus.

“Hey, man!” He was loud across the room, raising a large hand and making his way to the bar. “Let’s get a booth, yeah?”

I settled my tab without even seeing the price of my drink. My mind was on the conversation ahead. How would I even start it?

Ty didn't really help my state of mind, but he did introduce the subject with bold insensitivity. 

“So I was thinking about this. You have a stripper for a wife!” Judging by his intonation, he didn't think this was a negative thing.

I looked at him, wondering once again what the hell was I doing. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Ty reached out and put a hand on my elbow, stopping me. “I'm sorry, man, don't take it like that. Didn't mean to offend.”

“I called you because I'm going crazy for that very reason.” There was more heat in my words than I'd intended, but I rolled with it. “And here you come in, treating it like I’d just learned that Amanda could speak Chinese.”

Ty’s brows went up. “Can she?”

“Definitely a mistake,” I muttered. 

With his sandy blond hair was blown back and the beginnings of a beard coming in, Ty reminded me of a grazing lion—a lazy, unhelpful one. 

“I'm sorry, man.” He leaned in, setting his thick arms on the table, and released a deep breath. “She is what you want to talk about, right? So what did you learn?”

Before I knew it, I told him almost everything that I knew, short of the name of the club. I told him about my second visit to the strip club, leaving out the part that involved my colleagues doing jasmine before entering, and how Irina had solicited me. I told him about the flavor of the month comment, how I’d been picked up by Julia afterwards. 

“You deserved that,” Ty said. 

“I know,” I said. And then I repeated it out of frustration. “I know!”

He didn't say more, letting me go on. I went on, covering Javier Garcia and the contract and last night’s celebratory visit to the Gold Club. This was the crux. This was the hardest part. 

“I didn't go, I'm not totally stupid. I stayed home, but… I got text updates. They made it into the VIP section, apparently. I've got a pic of Javier with Amanda.”

“With Raven,” Ty corrected.

I shrugged. “Same thing.”

Ty was shaking his head before I'd finished. “Not the same. Raven is not your wife. Raven is who she needs to be to do the job. Raven is not who will come home to you when this is all over.”

“Raven spent the night in Javier and Brandon’s hotel room.” My voice shook with emotion.

Ty grimaced. “I'm sorry, man. Really. But...just remember that it's not her—”

I lumbered on, compelled by alcohol and too much introspection. The words stumbled to get out. “But does she need to be Raven all of the time? It’s one thing to… do things to maintain cover. But why go back to a hotel room with two random guys? Unless they’re wrapped up in this—which I highly doubt—it’s just… sex for sex.”

Ty didn’t have a great answer to this, but I appreciated the empathy that he gave me.

“Amanda…” he began slowly, “is a warrior. Not just a fighter or a soldier.”

“Those are synonyms of the same thing.”

Ty shook his head. “No. A fighter is just someone who fights. A soldier is just a job. But a  warrior is a way of life. It’s a state of mind, one who puts everything they have on the line for the greater good. You and I have known her since law school. What drives her is something beyond just herself—”

“Or our marriage,” I muttered.

“But you knew what you were signing up for, David. Please don’t tell me that you thought putting a ring on her meant life in the suburbs with dog walks and book clubs and fuckin’ barbecues with the neighbors or something. She’s not the romantic type. She’s not sentimental. I have never known someone so driven to be a badass than your wife.”

“So why is she…” I swallowed that thought. It was all speculation, all conjecture. I knew he was right. If Amanda was fucking guys out of the club, she was doing it for a reason. And if Amanda was here, she’d tell me to stop speculating about things that I had no answers for. 

“Look, I’m really sorry that you’re going through this,” Ty said. “It sucks to have zero control, and so little insight into what’s going on. But she did come home the one time—”

“After being away for months—”

“After,” he interjected, “she saw you at the club. I don’t know why she did that, but I have to believe that it had something to do with needing to know that you were still there. That she still had something to come home to, which means that one day, she’ll be home.”

“And in the meantime, she’s fucking my coworker and the boss and everyone in the club.” Speculation again. I needed to get off of that, and I needed to get something else off my chest. Before Ty could go back into consoling mode, I pressed on. “And the thing is…” I took a deep breath. “The thing is, a part of me is, like, turned on by it.” I laughed, hearing the hysteria in it. “I am so fucked up.”

It was Brandon’s text from last night, verbatim, only the circumstances were completely different. That made me laugh even more.

Ty looked at me like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. Heat gathered beneath my collar and filled my face with red. I tried to maintain eye contact with my friend, but couldn’t. Ashamed, I looked away, into my martini glass that was now empty.

Ty called our server over and ordered us a round of whiskey. “We’re switching to something better,” he explained when she was gone. “No more of this ginny bullshit.”

I nodded, feeling numb.

“So…” He began, then seemed to realize that he didn’t know what to follow it up with.

So I asked a question of my own, one that I’d carried around for years but never had the guts to ask it. “You and Amanda never…” My heart skipped. I raised my brows, unable to even say it aloud. “You know. Did you?”

Ty processed the change of subject quickly. “If I had, how would that make you feel?”

I licked my lips, wishing our drinks were here. “I don’t know. Like I said—”

“You’re so fucked up.” Ty scratched his scruffy beard. “It’s not as crazy as you may think, you know. The way you’re feeling. It’s actually pretty natural.”

I looked at him, wondering if he was fucking with me again. “What’s natural?”

“Well, not natural, but not that uncommon.”

“What are you talking about, Ty?”

“Fantasy of a naughty wife. Takes a lot of forms, but at its core is a wife who sleeps with other men, and a husband who gets off on it.”

“I don’t enjoy it—” I broke off when our server returned with our drinks. I waited until she was gone, then whispered, “I don’t enjoy it.”

Ty eyed me like I was a skittish dog. “You just admitted that it turns you on.”

“That’s different than enjoying it.” I knew how silly that sounded, but it didn’t make it any less true. “Look, here’s how it is. The rational side of me—and I like to think that that’s most of who I am—knows that what she has to do is wrong. Like, really wrong. Disgusting even. And that’s just looking at this from a guy who isn’t married to her. As her husband, the thought of her using her body is…” My stomach fluttered. Jealousy rose up through me, but also something else.

“Is what you’re struggling with,” Ty said. “You hate it, but you also get turned on by it. That’s what I’m trying to say. Stop beating yourself up about it. It’s natural.”

“It’s wrong.”

“That’s your Catholic guilt,” Ty said.

“Doesn’t take being raised Catholic for me to feel guilty about this, man.”

Ty stared at me before responding, letting the air cool between us. “Look, I won’t tell you how you should feel. Only one who can do that is you, David. But I want you to confront the facts of the matter. She’s got a job to do, and that job entails some...actions that she normally would never do. And some of those actions turn you on. It may actually be healthier here for you to embrace that, rather than let it eat away at you.”

“And when she comes home?”

“Then she’ll be home. And she’ll be Amanda.”

“And if I want her to still be Raven?” This was the crux of my fear, I realized. This was the source of all my guilt.

Ty recognized that, too, nodding. “Then you talk to her. You work it out together. That’s what healthy relationships do, right?”

“In a healthy relationship,” I said, “we would have talked about this before she went off and opened her legs. She can’t hide behind the fact that she’s doing this for the job.”

Ty, surprisingly, didn’t jump right to Amanda’s defense this time. “And I’m not saying that you’re wrong, man. The whole situation is fucked up, and Amanda has always put too much weight on doing what she thought she needed to do, or what she thought was right. I’m not dismissing your concerns. When this is over, take some time. Go away somewhere. Hawaii or something. Tell her everything. Work through it. Who knows, maybe a part of her enjoyed it, too, and wants to continue…”

Can’t fake that kind of excitement… She was so wet… My pants tightened, even as I fought it down.

“That’s kind of what I’m concerned about,” I said.

“But not just concerned.” Ty wasn’t being an asshole. He wasn’t fucking with me.

“No, not just concerned.”

Ty cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. It was a funny expression for the man. “We did, you know,” he said at last.

My breathing went shallow. I felt light-headed. The most frightening thing was that Ty Lawrence, this lion of a man, wasn’t looking me in the eyes. “Did...what?”

“It.”

He might as well have punched me in the head. I was surprised that I didn’t see stars float across my vision.

He looked at me at last. “How does that make you feel, David? And be honest.”

“When?”

“Back in the beginning. And only once. It was before you two were a thing.”

I wanted to vomit, but also...also it was exactly what I was hoping to hear. How insane was that? “You two had sex.”

“We were drunk. She’d been pining for you for so long, but you were too blind to see it. And then you went out with that chick from our forensics class, remember? And Amanda...didn’t take it well.”

“I remember, but I can’t even remember her name.” I brushed my hand through my hair. “She really liked me that much?”

“I think you asked her out the next week, and she immediately said yes.” Ty chuckled. “Sometimes I forget how dense you can be. Yes, she really did like you that much, and after she and I… after that, she really beat herself up acting out. She made me promise never to tell you about our...thing.”

I said, “And now you’re telling me.”

“I know something new now.” He shook the ice in his glass. “So tell me, how does knowing make you feel?”

My hands shook. My teeth practically chattered with adrenaline. It was the past. It was during a time before we were together. It was a secret side of my wife that I’d never known before, and now that I did, it felt like electricity.

Ty nodded as though I’d answered him. Maybe my actions had. The jovial Ty was back with his grin and his lazy lion demeanor. He leaned back into the booth, throwing an arm over the back. “So…” He paused, nodding. I knew what came next, and was already smiling along with him. “You have a stripper for a wife!”

***

The conversation helped me cope through the weekend, but only just. Doubt had a way of working its way back, no matter how much I tried to reassure myself. It was hardest at night, when I was alone and curled in my cold, empty bed. Easier when I was at work.

Although of course, with work, there was Brandon. I dreaded that meeting, even though he didn’t know that ‘Raven’ was my wife. How was I going to work with this guy? I’d already begun thinking about revising my resume—once again—when he walked into my office Monday morning. 

He looked like he’d just finished a very satisfying meal.

“Good weekend?” I asked.

“Still recovering.” He drummed his fingers on his stomach. “But fuck yeah. Javi’s flying back to Spain, one happy mother fucker.”

My gut squirmed. “So the stripper…?”

“Javi hired her for the whole weekend. I left them to it Saturday morning. Think maybe she sees a sugar daddy there or something. Or saw, anyway. Like I said, he’s gone now.”

The whole weekend. Amanda had spent the whole weekend with that guy? “No, she wouldn’t—” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?” Brandon asked. “That shit happens you know. And she was really into the sex. Like, really into it, man.”

My gut tightened, even as my pants swelled. I wanted to tell him to shut up. Instead, I asked, “What did you guys do?”

Brandon slapped my desk and laughed. “You know, you play the straight man, but you've got a darker side. I knew it.”

I almost told him to forget about it as shame warmed my face. “What can I say? You know I’ve got a thing for the brunette.”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, not the brunette. We tried getting her to come out with us, but she declined. We ended up with this redhead. Amazing fake tits, man.”

I blinked. This felt like this was some kind of psychological whiplash.

“But no, not the brunette. We tried man. Raven got a lot of our money, and I swear she was interested. But in the end, she turned us down.”

“They’re supposed to make you think they’re interested,” I said. Lamely. Because while it was probably true that she was faking it, a part of me wondered if she wasn’t.

“No, she was, man. Definitely. She liked being naughty. Dancing still turned her on. She wasn't doing it for money, to support a kid or a habit or anything. She was stripping for some other reason.”

To bust the bad guys, I thought. “How can you tell? She say that?”

Brandon shook his head. “Nah, but I can tell. I've been around enough dancers to know the ones who treated it as a job and the ones who were into it. And Raven was into it. Trust me. Too bad she doesn't hook. Such a fucking loss.”

It felt like someone had finally taken a knee off my chest, only to find the pressure was still there. Amanda hadn't slept with Brandon and Javier, but that didn't make her innocent. Too many other factors played into my doubt and insecurity. Julia had hinted at it with her story about her undercover prostitution job. Ty had backed it up. And now Brandon told me that my wife was into the job.

“Dude, you okay?” Brandon asked.

Oh, we were still in my office. “Sorry, just have my mind on some stuff.”

“Fucking Monday mornings,” Brandon agreed. “They're the fucking worst.”

An hour later, I got an email with the cryptic subject line: ‘Watch this when you are alone.’ I didn’t recognize the sender, and the body of the email only contained a link. Now, I knew I shouldn’t click it. A thing like this was either spam or some way of infecting my computer with something insidious. 

Thing was, I’d already been infected. I wasn’t thinking straight about anything.

So I clicked it, and what I saw next blew up my whole world.

Chapter 9: The Video

“So you want to be a dancer at the Gold Club?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was sweeter, more deferential than I was used to. But it was the way she was dressed in this video that held my attention—a pair of cut-off jean-shorts so short the pockets hung out, and a white tank top so small it didn't completely cover the lacy edge of her black bra. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high, flirty ponytail and her blue eyes were ringed with dark, thick eyeliner.

“What’s your name?”

“Raven.”

“Hello, Raven. Nice to meet you.”

The voice came from behind the camera, which shook just enough to give me the impression that the man was holding it.

“Hello there.”

Amanda took a step forward, closer to the camera. Her bra was so padded that her cleavage jiggled over the top of it.

“You’ve got the body for this place. And the face. But this ain’t a modeling agency we’re running here. At the Gold Club, you need to be able to strip.”

“Didn’t you call my references?” She batted her lashes, touching her collarbone in a not so subtle gesture to bring attention to her cleavage.

The man behind the camera snorted. “Why call when you can demonstrate yourself… Raven. Let’s see you strip.”

The camera panned back just enough that I finally noticed the surroundings. She wasn’t in the club itself, but what looked like one of its offices. The walls were dark maroon, covered in flourishes that made me think of the insides of a Russian manor. The furniture was similarly antique. Old-school.

And beneath it all, like the undercurrent of sex that ran through this recording, was the throbbing beat of the strip club, a steady drive that I’ll forever associate with the place. It ran through the walls like the lifeblood of temptation and lust and sin.

It was to that beat that Amanda began to sway, lifting her hands to her forehead and swinging her hips side-to-side. In all that tight clothing, it put her hourglass body on full display. I’ve watched her dance before—at weddings, at house parties, even in a club or two. I’ve never seen her dance like this before. Never seen her hips move with such erotic hypnosis. 

And I’ve definitely never seen her dance with that look in her eyes. They weren’t sleepy, bedroom eyes. She looked at the man behind the camera with eyes wide open, eyes that promised dirty, naughty things. Eyes that wanted it just as much.

I thought about Brandon and what he’d said about her. She liked being naughty. Dancing turned her on. Either Amanda was a good faker, or a part of her really was into this. I knew it was probably the former, but that fucked up part of me wished for the latter.

This was Raven, I reminded myself. This was her cover, a character my wife was playing.

That became harder to hold onto when she crossed her arms, grabbed the bottom of her tank top, and peeled it over her head—all in perfect, sinuous time with the music around her. Where had she learned to do that? How much training had gone into this assignment?

“Very nice tits, Raven.”

With her legs planted wide, she reached up, and grasped her breasts through her lacy bra. “You like them?”

“You know I do.”

“They’re real, you know. All natural D cups.”

“Now those are the kind of references I like.”

Now I was having a really hard time believing this was my wife. The Amanda I knew seemed to do everything she could to downplay the size of her breasts. She wanted to be recognized for her abilities, not her physical assets. Raven, on the other hand, relished showing them off.

With her hips still following the beat, she reached down and unsnapped the button of her jean shorts. She lowered them, leaning forward until the entire screen seemed to fill with her deep décolletage.

“You like my body?” she asked the camera directly. I jumped a little, like she could actually see me there. No, she knew that she was playing for an audience as much as for the man speaking. “You like how I take off my clothes?”

She rolled her whole body back, left in nothing but her bra, a matching black thong, and a pair of platform heels. Toying with the front clasp of that bra, she asked, “Should I take off more?”

“Do it, honey.”

“Will I get the job?”

“You don’t have it yet. Show me those tits.”

She...giggled. It was a husky giggle, laced with sexual promise, but still a giggle. From Amanda. Twisting until her back was to us, she shook her ass, showing off that raven tattoo on her lower back.

I watched as the tension in the bra went slack. She opened it like peeling off a shirt, treating us to the side swells of her unfettered tits. Flipping the bra off, she turned, covering her nipples with her hands. She squeezed them together, kneading them, offering them up.

“You’re one fucking tease,” the guy said.

“Isn’t that what this job’s all about?” She winked. “The tease? The promise?”

She swiveled around again, lowering herself into his lap.

“Mmm. Excited, big boy?” She undulated along him, grinding her ass into his lap. “How am I doing?”

“Pretty fucking good.”

Amanda reached up, shaking her dark hair from its ponytail. It rippled around her shoulders before she pushed her hands into it and held it up. She looked at him over her shoulder, laughing breathily. “You feel pretty fucking good, too.”

She rolled back again, draping her body over him so much that he had to pull the camera up and away. It shifted, showing her breasts. Her nipples were hard.

“Go ahead. Feel them. See if they’re real,” she said. “We’re not actually in the club. There are no rules back here.”

“Oh, baby. They’re so soft.”

“Mmm, that feels good. Pinch my nipples. I love that.”

Did she? I never knew. She never told me. Was it an act? Or a secret? When the man pinched her dark nipples, she gasped with delight.

“Shit, babe, you’re turned on.”

“I’m wet, too. Dancing always makes me wet.” She turned, looking again right into the camera. “Want to see that?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Hmm,” she giggled, lifting herself out of his lap. Looking over her shoulder with her ass thrust back, she hooked her thumbs into her thong and pushed it down. “I can feel your eyes all over me.”

“Baby, you’re going to do real well here. Real, real well.”

Her panties pulled away from her pussy lips, damp enough that her thong stuck to them. She’d already shaved by this time, and her lips were plump and excited. This may have been a cover, she may have been forced to use her body like this, but at some animal level, something was getting her excited.

She turned, rocked her hip to one side, and set her hand on it, presenting herself in all her full-frontal glory. There was her pussy, smooth and bare and so different from the dark bush I was used to. But so was this attitude. So was this comfort with nudity. Raven wasn’t a woman auditioning for her first gig as a stripper. She was a woman projecting experience.

“So when do I start?”

“I said that you’d do real well, honey. Not that you have the job. Yet.”

My stomach sank as I watched Raven’s face come alive. If any of this made her nervous, she was doing a fine job hiding it. This, what I knew came next, though, she seemed to expect.

“Well, then, let me see if I can convince you…” she said, smiling playfully, meeting the lens of the camera as she sank to her knees between the man’s legs.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I actually paused the video and looked around. In my own office, with daylight streaming in through the windows and people floating by just beyond my closed door, everything was so normal. Life went on. I barely saw any of it. Instead, I had my wife’s makeup-laden face, her hungry eyes, the way she has a hand frozen on the fly of this man’s suit pants.

I could have turned it off now. I should have turned it off. I knew what came next. I didn’t need to see it. I didn’t need to experience it. It was in the past—probably a month or more ago. And if this was the manager or the boss or whatever, this dude might be fucking her every night.

My stomach roiled at the thought. My scalp prickled.

Yet I reached for the mouse and unpaused the video. I had never felt so drunk on excitement in my life.

“What are you doing?” The man asking the question didn’t sound alarmed or surprised. He just wanted her to say it, and my wife didn’t disappoint.

“I’m going to take this big cock of yours out and give you a blowjob. You like blowjobs?”

“I do. You like giving them?”

She fished his dick free. It was fat and shockingly erect. She stared at it, admiring it, before shifting her eyes up to him. “I love sucking cock.”

With that, she grasped his cock, dipped forward, and ran her tongue up the side of the hard shaft. She never looked away from the man—those crystal clear blue eyes locked onto him, like he was all that mattered. She’d done that when she visited me last. Before that, though? I couldn’t remember such bold confidence in her sexuality.

“You like that?” she asked sweetly. “Or am I still too much of a tease?”

To punctuate her question, she rolled his cockhead between her lips, swirling her tongue before drawing off with a pop.

“That’s good, babe,” the man groaned. He reached down, brushing her hair to one side so that the camera got a clear shot of this sex act.

“Good? I was hoping you’d think I was bad.” I barely recognized her voice. It was softer than my Amanda’s, cute in that fucked up, sexy way things could be. She stroked him, licked him, teased his cockhead. “Let me be bad for you.”

She spit on the tip, a dollop of foamy saliva that drooled along the shaft before she worked it into his skin with her hands. This time, when she licked along him, she went lower, pressing his shaft against his stomach to suck on his balls.

“Your balls are so full,” she whispered, swallowing them whole as she jerked his shaft. “Is all that come for me?”

The man could only groan a pained, “Oh…”

“You want to shoot all that come over my face, don’t you?” She spit on his shaft again, only this time, she followed up with her mouth, swallowing half of his thick dick in one smooth motion. Again, she drew back, popping off of him. His cock glittered.

“Or maybe you want to come all over my titties. Is that what you really want?” Even as she asked, she slid up, rubbing the sensitive underside of his cock along her breasts. She teased him with her nipples, dragging his crown across it. “You want to fuck my tits?”

She spit another glob of saliva onto his cock. This time, the spit ran down across her breast, and Amanda rubbed it in, using his cock to spread it around.

I sat there stunned. The woman on screen ceased being Amanda, my wife. This was a treat that she had never offered to me, and I never dared to ask. Hell, until that moment, I didn’t think Amanda knew what tit-fucking was, despite having tits big enough. Raven, on the other hand, knew exactly what she had, and how to use them.

She rubbed those tits along his cock, sliding it into her cleavage until his balls nestled nicely between them. Then, she spit right between them, the frothy lubricant making me think of come.

“I’ll be a good dancer,” she said as she wrapped her tits around his cock. “I’ll make you guys a lot of money.” She pressed her palms over her nipples, enclosing his cock into a soft, tunnel of flesh. “I need this job, baby. Give it to me.”

She tucked her chin down and ran her tongue across his cockhead as it emerged from her cleavage.

“Oh, fuck, babe…”

“You like that, don’t you? My big, soft titties wrapped around that cock.”

“That’s so good.”

“I like it, too.” She squeezed her tits around him harder, bouncing them along his shaft. It was so hot. I took a screenshot of it, even though this was my work computer. If this video disappeared, I needed to see this to believe it. “I love the feeling of a nice, big, hard cock between my tits.”

She licked the head again.

“But you know what I like better?”

The man just groaned in response. She took that as a ‘what?’

“If it’s big enough, I fucking love choking on a cock.” She drew back, fisting the top half of his cock. “You’re definitely big enough.”

She sucked on his balls again, her slurps loud enough to register in the recording over the low thump of techno.

“Want to shove your big cock down my throat?”

I blinked and blinked and blinked, but the video didn’t disappear. It didn’t end. I didn’t wake from a fever-induced dream. No, instead, I watched as the man’s hairy arm swung into view again, grabbed the back on my wife’s head, and dragged her lips up to his cock. She opened them, her eyes alight, and swallowed him all the way to the root.

I watched her gag on it. Watched her eyes flare and water up. The sounds she made were wet and raunchy glugs. Sounds I’ve only heard in porn, and certainly never thought I’d hear from Amanda. But what got to me, what hit me right in the gut, was her face and the excitement laced in her look. She wanted this. She welcomed this. Raven really did love choking on a cock.

I hadn’t realized that I was rubbing myself under my desk until I came right in my pants. Right at work. I looked up, reality hitting me. I half-expected the office to be standing at my door, gawking at the pervert that I was. The door, mercifully, remained closed. My perverted secret was safe.

On screen, Amanda continued to deep throat this stranger, her eyes now begging for his come. She rubbed his balls as more saliva drooled out around her lips, and her free hand, her left, was out of sight.

“Oh, fuck, baby. I’m close.”

She edged him closer with her throat and the disgusting sounds that burbled around his cock.

Then, with a flourish, she pulled back, tightening her fist around the base. “Tell me I have the job.”

“You’ve got it.”

“You promise?” She glanced at the camera, addressing whoever this guy’s boss was. “Because I promise you won’t fucking regret it.”

“Yes, baby. It’s all yours. I fucking swear.”

“Great!”

She went to work finishing him off, using both hands and her mouth, bobbing with swift, workman-like efficiency. When he was there, rocking his hips up, she pulled back, pointed his cock at her face, and took a blast of come right across the cheek.

The video ended there.

So did the last vestiges of my innocence.

This is the end of book one of In Too Deep. I'll start posting book two starting next.