In Too Deep, Book 1, Free Sneak Peek

[image: VitalikRadko]

A Foreword First

Believe it or not, this book started just under ten years ago! I went back and had to look it up, and was surprised that it was so old. Ben Boswell sent me a few paragraphs of an idea that he had to write a book about a kickass woman who goes undercover, written from the husband's POV at home. I took the concept and ran with it.

Well, maybe not always ran with it. I ran with it at first, then walked some, then took a years long nap. But I kept coming back to it, over and over, because the story was sexy and the wife was unlike anyone I've written before—strong, doesn't take shit, Tom Boy from the beginning, but with a very naughty side.

But unlike most of my books, the conflict didn't just boil out of the internal tension between husband and wife as they explore the journey of hotwifing. The real plot of this book was an external one, which required a lot more plotting, a lot of rewriting, and a lot of careful thought to make sure everyone's motivations made sense.

I'm a fan of spy movies, murder mysteries, stories that seem to go one direction and then end up somewhere else. My first "final" draft of In Too Deep told the story of Amanda and David, but the ending was just too clean. The plans in these types of stories never go off without a hitch, so I ditched the ending. This pushed it into a much longer book, and because of this, I'm splitting it into three shorter books (each maybe a little shorter than the books of Bull's Eye).

All three parts will be posted here, on Patreon, first, although there may be a lag between each book of a week or so as I gather it together and polish it up. This will be the only chapter that's free, however, so if you like what you read (and I hope that you do) and haven't subscribed, please check it out. But like other things published here, it'll eventually be released as a set of three books on your more traditional marketplaces.

Lastly, while what you're seeing posted here is pretty close to the final draft, I always love to hear feedback. What I learned from releasing Castaway Wife in this way was that you all think of things that I didn't, and that so many of your ideas are amazing. If I can shift and adjust to accommodate, I'll try. That book is going to be so much better when it's finally out.

Blurb (work in progress):

It was two months since David’s wife, Amanda, went undercover. Two months since he’d held her in his arms. Two months since he’d heard her laugh. Two months since they’d kissed. He worried. He fretted. He didn’t know anything about the case or what Amanda’s cover was.

Until he visited a strip club and saw her dancing. Sometimes, it’s better not to know.

Your free sneak peek

Chapter 1 - The Gold Club

I'd never been inside a strip club before. I always told myself that I didn’t need them. That I had a beautiful wife at home. That it was a waste of time and money. As soon as I stepped inside the Gold Club and was greeted with the wealth of tight, naked flesh, I saw the appeal. The blonde on the stage closest to us could have been in Playboy, and the dancer on the far stage was equally hot.

“David, what did I tell you? Totally worth it,” Brandon Cruise said. “Top shelf pussy, right here.”

The statement made me cringe, but I had to admit that he had a point. I looked across the open space of the strip club, scattered with armchairs, low tables, and couches. Booths lined the wall, but most of the patrons occupied the chairs right up against the stages.

“Looks like all the good spots are taken,” Brandon said. “Come on, guys, follow me.”

Brandon led our contingent into the room. I looked back at the group—a bunch of guys from Taiwan who looked about as wide-eyed as I felt. I took comfort in not being alone in my bewilderment.

We’d just closed a deal and it had been Brandon’s idea to take all parties out for a celebration. I should have known that the celebration would have taken us to a place like this, but when everyone enthusiastically agreed, I wasn’t going to be the wet blanket.

Besides, it had been two months since I’d seen my wife, Amanda, and I had to admit that part of me was ready to change things up beyond internet porn. I would just make sure not to mention this little trip to her.

These past couple months had been the worst I’d ever experienced in my life—definitely the worst of our three-year marriage. When the FBI had approached her about going undercover, I didn’t like the idea. Hell, I’d hated it. We’d fought about it. Amanda was nervous about it, too, I could tell. She was tough—a tour as an MP in Afghanistan, not to mention working counter-narcotics in Miami and her brief stint at counter-terrorism here in LA. But she’d never worked undercover, and we both knew the risks.

Still, where I saw danger and peril, Amanda saw opportunity and a way to leave the world better off. She promised that she’d only do it the one time—that she knew the details of the case—details she couldn’t share with me due to clearance—and assured me that this was big. “If we can nail these guys, the world’s going to be a much safer place,” she’d said, her large blue eyes lighting up the way they always did when she talked about something she was passionate about. I could never talk her out of a thing when she got like that—I didn’t want to. It was that passion that I’d fallen in love with.

Amanda excelled at everything she put her mind to. UC work would be no different, I assured myself. Still, after two months without her and only a handful of quick phone calls, I missed the hell out of her.

"Check out the brunette over there," Brandon said to the group. He pointed to the far stage, where a dancer was starting a new set.

Brandon was right, she was the hottest yet, although I was biased since she reminded me of Amanda. They had the same near-black hair, same porcelain skin, same awesome body. She ascended the stage wearing a pair of silver hot pants and a matching silver halter top—neither of which did much to cover her creamy, unblemished skin. The tribal tattoo that crawled up her lower back was one of the few differences.

The MC announced her with the unlikely stage name of "Raven."

"Yeah, we should have sat over there," I said, getting into the spirit of the club.

A petite blonde with a tight little body came over to their table, wearing a see-through skirt and a bra that cradled her perky tits. "Evening, boys. I'm Valerie. Anyone want a dance?"

Brandon looked at the Taiwanese contingent. "What do you guys think? Want a spin?"

They nodded enthusiastically, drawing a wide grin from Brandon. To the dancer, he said, "How much?"

She took a seat in Brandon's lap, wrapping one arm around his shoulder. The other played with his collar. "Out here, it's $20 a dance per person, but if you want to pay for a private dance, I can give y'all a group discount."

Brandon laughed. "I'm sure you could, Valerie. Let's stick to lap dances for now, for my Chinese friends." I cringed at the labeling, glancing at the Taiwanese. They didn't seem offended, or maybe they were just too enraptured by Valerie. 

Brandon peeled off three twenties and passed them over to her.

Valerie just shrugged, took the money, and moved over to our first client.

"So what's your name, big boy?" she asked, straddling his lap

"Hao," he said, looking like he couldn't decide whether to ogle her or look away.

"How nice to meet you, Hao. I'm Valerie, and right now, I want you to stare at my tits."

Brandon laughed, nodding at me. This is how you celebrate, he seemed to say. 

I looked past the strip tease, to the brunette dancer on the far side. I was just in time to watch her shimmy out of her hot pants, leaving her in a black g-string that looked great against her pale skin. Like Amanda, she had a perfect, heart-shaped ass—the kind of ass that defied her otherwise slender curves.

The tramp stamp just above her lower back dimples was sexy, I admitted to myself, even though it was a little trashy. Amanda wasn't into tattoos, and she didn't have a high opinion of women who got them in that particular spot.

The stripper knew how to move her body, that was for sure. She didn't do any acrobatics on the pole or anything, but instead danced with it like an intimate lover as the clothes hit the stage. 

Her top went next, and I was surprised to see her full tits were real, hanging plump and round in a way that surgeons hadn't yet fully mastered. I'd been expecting implants, like most of the busty dancers here—but they appeared natural.

"Yeah, she's slammin'," Brandon said, following my eyes to the nearly naked brunette. "Bet she'd be fun to take into the back for a private dance."

I tore my gaze away from her, looking at Brandon. Coming to this strip club was bad enough. Going into the back for a private dance was out of the question. Still, I was curious. "What happens during a private dance?"

"Depends on the girl, and how much you're willing to pay." He looked at the brunette as she sauntered up to the edge of stage, squatting next to a group of guys armed with singles. Pulling the g-string out so they could stuff it, I didn't doubt that she gave them a peek at her pussy in the process. "I bet that chick puts out, though."

As she gathered her clothing and climbed off stage, I couldn't help but think how uncanny the resemblance to Amanda was. If my wife wore a little more makeup and bought a pair of platform stilettos like that stripper, they could have been twins. 

I closed my eyes and got my head right. Two months into this three-month undercover stint, I was seeing things. I swear, my neighbor’s dog was starting to look like Amanda.

This woman’s attitude was all wrong, anyway. The way she sauntered off the stage without bothering to cover herself, still wearing only the g-string and heels, was so brazenly sexual—so not my wife. Her tits were on full display as she crossed the room, hips swaying, everyone’s eyes all over her body. Amanda would have been slapping everyone she could reach.

Instead, she met everyone’s eyes with playful encouragement—go ahead and look, Raven seemed to suggest. I don’t mind.

As she passed by the VIP section, roped off in velvet and filled with the wealthy, she seemed to meet one man’s eyes in particular—a well-dressed man with great, salt-and-pepper hair and an equally amazing, groomed beard. A smile formed at the corners of her lips and was gone so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it. By the time she disappeared into the back room, I’d convinced myself that I had.

But the guy kept looking, his eyes lingering on the beaded curtain still swinging where Raven had passed. He rubbed his beard, lost in a calculating kind of thought. It didn’t sit well with me.

Maybe it was the fact that Raven looked so much like Amanda that in my slightly inebriated state, I believed it was her, but I felt a wave of jealousy pass through me. That man clearly wanted to fuck the stripper, and as he took his seat and stared at nothing, I knew he was imagining doing just that. 

It made me think of all the times that something like that had happened with Amanda. She’d always put them down with remorseless and reassuring efficiency. Raven hadn’t done that. Raven and that smile suggested that maybe, just maybe, this guy had a chance.

Jealousy stirred inside of me. It was a familiar sensation, one that usually arrived in those first few moments when a man hit on Amanda when he thought that we weren’t together—before he was shut down. Envy, protectiveness, territorialism—things that I shouldn’t feel because Amanda was the last person to tolerate it.

I watched for Raven for the rest of the night, but she never reemerged. Her shift must have been over. Or maybe she’d gone off with a client. 

It tied my stomach up in knots. 

I missed Amanda. That was the problem. Every other stripper I saw, I compared to Raven, which in turn made me compare to Amanda.

Two months down. Only one more to go.

Read chapter 2 (and beyond) on Patreon.