In Too Deep - E-Book

He’s my ex-lover’s son. That should have been enough to convince me to stay away. But when Levi plays his guitar, I can’t help but fall in love all over again.

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I can tell you that’s not true. At the end of college, I lost the only man I’ve ever loved. Twenty-three years later, I’m a billionaire CEO of my own software company. I’m miserable, still heartbroken, and I push everyone away eventually.

The moment I decide it’s time to give up on dating forever, Levi appears, and my heart nearly stops beating. He’s the spitting image of my ex-lover. I try to leave, but the way he sings and plays that guitar… I’m under his spell before I even know what happened. However, I never expected him to single me out in the crowd and buy me a drink.

Love is easy with Levi. In an instant, I’m transported back to my college days. We spend long, hot nights in each other’s arms. I can’t get enough of him. He even calls me Daddy just to mess with me, but I wouldn’t mind making him my Boy.

Imagine my surprise when I finally agreed to meet his parents and standing there in the doorway was my ex-lover from all those years ago with his wife, the woman he left me for. He hasn’t forgotten me, and he’s the only thing standing between me and my happily ever after.

But I won’t give up on Levi, even if it means fighting my ex-lover to get him.

TROPES: billionaire, Daddy (NO age play), instalove, found family, forbidden love, and hurt/comfort.

Chapter One: Kevin
It was one of those nights where I just didn’t feel like sitting at home by myself again. Every night was the same: I came home from work, ate something without tasting it, and sat on my phone working until I fell asleep. Lately, that just wasn’t enough for me. Call it the temptation of spring in the air or just plain boredom after twenty years of the same damn thing. Either way, I needed to get out of the house.
So, instead of doing what I usually did, I went home, threw on a flannel and a pair of jeans, and headed right back to town. Except this time, I didn’t go downtown. I struck out toward the west, heading for a little divey bar that had live music on Friday nights. It wasn’t big and definitely wasn’t exceptional, but they had good food, good beer, and once in a while they even had a good musician. Either way, it wasn’t a night cooped up at Cherry Estates again, and that was all I needed.
Music was the one thing I enjoyed outside of work. I didn’t let anyone know about that particular hobby just because it was nice to have some things to myself. Besides, the moment anyone found out I knew how to do something at work, it somehow managed to get roped into my next software project suddenly. If I let them know I liked music, next week, I’d have to create a new composition software that would suck all the fun and joy out of music for the next six to twelve months. And I just wasn’t willing to do that.
Cliff and Tim were the only people even minorly aware of my fascination, and that’s only because they saw the brand new Steinway grand being delivered to my house two years ago. But they didn’t know I played it religiously or that I had two entire rooms dedicated to instruments and mixing equipment. I didn’t get to use it as often as I liked, and I never shared my work with anyone. But I loved it just the same. It was a wonderful place to escape when I needed a moment or two for myself.
And that’s why I always went to this particular bar. Live local music was a crapshoot. Most of the time, I heard bad covers of famous songs or people claiming to be original but had practically copied another song note for note. But once in a while, I was surprised. Two years ago in the autumn, I saw a small bluegrass group that had driven up from Virginia, and they were incredible. Their fiddle player alone was easily better than most professional symphonic players. And the guy on the banjo, even while wearing coveralls, was probably one of the hottest men I’d seen in a long time.
He had a nice cock too. But he left the next morning, and I never saw him again. Not that I minded. I didn’t date. Not anymore. One-night stands were all I had the energy for, and even then, it only happened once every couple of years or so. It just wasn’t worth the risk.
But that’s not what tonight was about. My plan was to eat an entire plate of deep-fried food, drink a few beers, and listen to whatever local band the bar had dredged up. With any luck, maybe one of their songs would be worth listening to. I just hoped it wasn’t some indie girl again trying to be TikTok famous. That shit was the worst. The last thing I wanted to do was sit there watching someone record themselves on their phone while they honked into a microphone.
Pulling into the parking lot, I found the bar a bit quieter than usual. Granted, Easter was this coming weekend, so I guess people were probably giving Lent at least a shot for the weekend before they had to pretend to be good followers in church on Sunday. Honestly, it seemed like a lot of song and dance for literally nothing. Pretty sure God or whoever didn’t give a fuck if I ate chocolate for a month or not.
But that meant a quieter night for me, so I was grateful for it.
A wave of hot air rolled over me as I stepped inside, bringing with it the smell of hot oil, stale beer, and the cigarette residue of decades past. Nobody had smoked in that building for almost a decade, but the scent was still there.
A waiter met me practically at the door. She seemed a little frazzled despite the slowness. However, a second glance revealed she was most likely the only server in the entire place besides the bartender.
“How many in your party?” she asked, grabbing a handful of menus and silverware wraps from the hostess stand.
“Just me,” I replied quietly.
She gave me a sort of odd look but covered it with a smile as she dropped the extra silverware back into its cubby. “Follow me.”
If you want to make a server question everything they know, tell them there’s only one in your party, and you’ll be eating alone. Dining out is such a social event, and it throws them off every time. But I didn’t mind. I liked being alone. Things were easier that way.
The waitress showed me to a small table in the back corner of the bar, giving me a great view of the stage on the far side. I made my order, knowing what I wanted already, and set my sights on the stage. A beer was delivered a moment later as I watched the equipment being set up. It looked like whoever they’d hired for the night was fairly small. The guys only put out a single mic with a stool and a guitar stand.
By the time my food arrived, I’d lost interest in what was going on at the front of the house. The show hadn’t started, and nobody seemed to be in much of a hurry to get it going. I was starting to think that the people they’d hired were a no-show. Just my luck, honestly. The one night, I convinced myself to go out, and nothing happened.
Blah.
At least the food didn’t disappoint. My burger was especially greasy. It was a monstrosity consisting of a burger patty smothered in cheese, topped with two strips of bacon, then topped with a very flat deep-fried chicken tender. The entire thing was dripping with mayo and barbeque sauce. I could feel my arteries hardening after the first bite, and it was delightful. If I somehow survived the sandwich, I try to work on the mound of deep-fried tater tots piled next to it.
Just as I was moving in for the second bite, I heard a voice ring out over the bar.
“Sorry for the delay, folks. My guitar decided to snap a couple of strings during the warmup.”
I looked up at the stage to see a young man climbing onto the stool in front of the mic. He had a warm mahogany guitar strapped over his shoulders and a bright, contagious smile. Even at a distance, I could see those baby blues of his shimmering in the stage lights. He was dressed simply, in light jeans and a white t-shirt. With his sandy brown quaffed back, he had a sort of young James Dean vibe to him. The chiseled jawline and the muscles pulling against his shirt helped drive that image home.
He was damn cute.
And he looked really familiar…
“Alright,” he smiled, situating himself on the stool and pulling his guitar into his lap. He gave the strings a strum, all of them ringing out in perfect tune. “This first song is one I wrote in high school. But don’t worry, it’s not angsty.” His smile widened. “It’s about kangaroos.”
And he just fucking went for it.
I sat there, my sandwich still held in my hand, as I stared openly at this young man singing about how kangaroos and how they were the masters of Kung Fu, but only at night. His voice was angelic and crystal clear, but the song he was singing was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. And yet, I couldn’t stop laughing and tapping my feet along with the beat. It was catchy and hilarious, something that only a few bands had mastered. Immediately, I thought of Ninja Sex Party, and I knew I was going to enjoy his set.
The song was over far too quickly, and even though there was a smaller crowd, they definitely made some noise for his talent. More than a couple of them brought dollar bills up to the stage, tossing them into the open guitar case at his feet. The kid was something else.
“Well, if you thought Kung Fu Kangaroo was good,” he smiled. “Wait until you hear, Get Off My Pillow, Mr. Armadillo, I Don’t Want Leprosy!”
Before the laugh even left my lips, he was off again, this new ballad chugging along at a slower but still entertaining pace. Within a few minutes, I’d forgotten about my food almost completely, the sandwich abandoned on my plate. I pushed it to the side, leaning on one elbow as I listened to him sing. Every time my waitress came by to check on me, I waved her off, too engrossed in the performance to pay attention to anything else.
After nearly a half hour of songs, the young man slid his guitar to the side and leaned down to the microphone.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, folks!”
There was a round of applause as he left the stage, his smile shining as he waved to everyone. It was only after he was gone that I noticed my food again and the waitress coming toward the table once more.
“Do you want a box or anything?” she asked. “Or a refill?”
“Is he coming back on?” I asked, gesturing toward the stage.
“I think he’s here for at least another half hour.”
“Is it okay if I stay?” I reached down, pulling a hundred-dollar bill out of my wallet. “I know I’m eating up your table, and you work for tips.”
“You don’t have to do that, sir…”
“I insist,” I replied, placing it in her hand. “And I wouldn’t mind a box and another beer.”
“Of course.”
“Can I ask you one favor, though?”
She stopped, nodding before she even knew what I was going to ask.
“I’d like to meet that performer. Can you make that happen? I’d like to buy him a drink.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” she replied without missing a beat.
I sat back in my chair, the nervous energy building in my stomach. There was something so familiar about that guy, and I had to know what it was. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny that he’d caught my eye. It didn’t happen often, but a talent like his couldn’t be ignored. Even if nothing came of it, I wanted to meet this guy and tell him how great his work was.
And if he’d let me suck his dick, then I’d be more than happy to cooperate.