One
DUKE
The elderly woman at the concierge desk watches my brothers and me as we cross the white marble lobby. Her lips purse, her finger lifts, and I know the routine. We don’t look like we belong here with our leather jackets, worn-out jeans, and biker boots.
I speak up to save her from making a scene. “We’re here for the Birch Valentine’s Party. Our mother is Mrs. Birch and she’ll be pissed if we’re late.”
Not the ideal choice of words.
She chooses wisely and keeps her thoughts to herself as her raised finger drifts to her pearls.
“Clutch those pearls, Grandma.” The elevator doors open at the exact moment of Jett’s unusually rude statement. With any luck, the conversation from the people exiting may have drowned him out.
The concierge may have judged us, but she didn’t deserve that.
We file into the elevator and Jett motions toward the numbered buttons. “Why does Mom love this fancy shit? Couldn’t we have just met them at their house?”
Chase, our middle brother, says, “Tap that penthouse button. Nothing wrong with living the life.”
“Why are you in such a shit mood, anyway?” I ask.
“We’re spending Valentine’s Day with our family.” His explanation is useless.
“And if you stand there sulking instead of pushing the button, we’ll be late.”
Jett’s normally lighthearted but this mood he’s been in all day caused us to barely roll in on time.
“Don’t you get it? They assumed we wouldn’t have something else planned.” It’s unclear if the tension in his voice comes from us not having dates, or us not understanding why that pisses him off.
“And?”
“Never mind.” He reaches for the ‘PH’ button.
“Hold on.” I slap his hand away then step into the doorway.
There she is—Angel, our sweet and wild stepsister.
And to make matters worse, she’s in her stretchy athletic shorts and a tank top that hugs all of her curves…
and roller skates. No coat despite the temperature outside.
I’m praying she has a change of clothes in her duffel bag.
My cock twitches but I’ve perfected the art of keeping it under control around her since getting a boner for my much-younger stepsister would have been uncool on several levels. Having a biological sister, Lexi, the same age as Angel, keeps me aware of the sibling dynamic.
The concierge is calling out, “Ma’am, roller skates aren’t allowed…”
“She’s with us.” I motion to Angel who promptly defies me by sitting on a white leather sofa. Concierge lady is rounding the desk with determination.
“Angel,” I say firmly, wondering, if she’s been at roller derby, where’s our sister, Lexi? They’re on the same team.
“I don’t do elevators.” She unzips her duffel bag and pulls out flip-flops. I bet those aren’t allowed either.
Chase pushes past me and strides toward our sister.
“Fuck you guys, I’m going.” Jett pushes the penthouse button several times.
The doors start to close and I slap my hands to either side, halting them. “Chill, Angel’s going the same place as us.”
“There’s not room for her and her date.”
I scan the lobby then glance over my shoulder at Jett. “Date?”
“Mom said Angel listed a plus one.”
Angel squeals, drawing my attention. “Stop it. Put me down. I’m taking the stairs.” Chase has her thrown over one shoulder and has her bag in his other hand. I can’t help but laugh.
The concierge stops in her tracks. The poor woman wasn’t ready for three bikers and the Rolly Ghost—Angel’s roller derby name.
Our parents have enough money to book ritzy old-school places like this now, but they didn’t always.
My brothers and I were raised a little rougher.
And our stepsister… she just does her thing.
With one hand holding the door open, I step out of the way as Chase approaches, Angel still insisting he put her down. He steps inside and turns, swinging her ass into my face. Her shorts are red with white hearts. Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.
My art of erection control isn’t as well crafted as I thought. Flexing my jaw from side to side, I resist the temptation to bite her plump cheek. But damn, I can’t stop staring. Her little pussy is—
“Oof!” I grunt as her skate catches me in the ribs. There we go. No more erection.
“We have policies…” The concierge’s voice trails off as the doors close.
Chase awkwardly maneuvers to set Angel down, and she’s instantly dwarfed between the three of us and our bulky leather jackets. Her skates roll as the elevator lurches upward, her hands fly out for stability, and all of us reach to steady her.
My hands land around her waist. Fuck, she’s even tinier than I thought, or than I allowed myself to think. Thoughts of her are dangerous, and only allowed when I can deal with my reaction.
“Where’s your date?” Jett spits out. He’s caught on her having a plus one, who must be showing up later since she’s alone.
Hopefully he canceled. I’m an asshole for wishing that on my little stepsister, but I can’t stand the thought of anyone getting their hands on her. Long ago, I tried to shove my desire for her into the darkest corners of my heart but it’s like my cock—it refuses to stay down.
“My date?” She looks ill.
“Your plus one.”
I peel my hands from her waist and guide her hands backward to the grab bar, setting my foot in front of her skates so they won’t roll.
With her steady, I try to focus on appropriate concerns, like why she’s not wearing a jacket when it’s cold outside.
Why does she make so many poor decisions?
Did I act like that when I was her age? Do I stand a chance with her?
Crap! I’m right back to inappropriate thoughts. She’s ten years younger, too young for me to think of in any other way than as an off-limits stepsister.
The lights blink off and back on as the elevator lurches to a stop. Probably only a floor or two up. The doors start to open, but don’t. The car lurches upward even harder, this time creaking.
“Let me out.” Angel flings a hand to the keypad, pushing all the buttons.
A loud grinding sound is followed by the upward motion ceasing. We all freeze. Angel’s eyes bulge and her shoulders hunch.
I’ve never seen her vulnerable side. I try to calm her. “You probably just hit the ‘Stop’ button.”
She nods. “I have to get out. I’m claustrophobic.”
Jett pushes the ‘PH’ button then a few others but nothing changes.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her. “Come here.”
When she doesn’t budge, I step in front of her and wrap my arms around her. Any other time, my motives would be questionable. But right now, my heart breaks seeing my little sister upset.
“Is that why you said you don’t do elevators?”
“Yes.”
I feel her answer in her head shake against my chest more than I hear it. She fits just right, snuggled against me. I move her hands, one at a time, to my waist.
On the surface, my noble motives are in place—to make her feel safe and secure. Below the surface, she belongs with me. I try to focus. “You were going to take the stairs?”
“Yes.”
“It’s…” I angle my head to read the numbers. “The penthouse is twenty-five floors up.”
“I can do it. Just let me out of here.”
Jett pushes more buttons. “Nothing’s happening.”
Not willing to give up my job of comforting Angel, I leave Chase and Jett to figure out what’s wrong.
“We’re stuck.” Her voice wavers.
“It’s an old building. Maybe they have to reset the elevator manually.” Worst case, we’re stuck until someone gets a crowbar.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“How about you take your skates off so you feel more stable.”
“I can’t move.”
“Can I do it for you?”
She nods. Slowly, I ease her to the ground and help extend her legs. Sitting seems to take the edge off her anxiety.
“I have baby wipes in the bag.” She points at her duffel that Chase dropped in the corner.
“Wipes?”
“I skated over from a demo for kids. I was going to clean up when I got here.”
“Why didn’t your plus one pick you up?” Jett is about to smash the buttons through the wall.