Step-In Valentine

Chapter 1

James 

“Home sweet home.” 

Shit. As much as I tried to rebel against this suburban, cookie-cutter, white picket fence house back when Mom and I first moved in, now it is home. Usually, it is familiar, even comforting. Not tonight. 

Tonight, I can’t even park on the damn driveway; a catering, or florist or party planner is taking up the whole thing with their train-sized van. 

“Every f*****g year.” I fix my sunglasses on my nose as the sun hits the snow just at the right angle, turning the front lawn into a mirror. I hate winter – snow specifically – as a rule. The dire monotony of white. The thick clothes covering arms, shoulders, collarbones, legs. The need to keep the top of my car closed for months at a time. Driving a convertible in winter, it is almost pathetic. Almost. I make it work.

I manage to dodge the crew of people that are setting up for tonight, frantically running around, now that the time is getting near. I wonder if Mom got the ten-year plan and gets some sort of discount. It wouldn’t surprise me. 

“Archie? Oh good, you’re here early.” f**k. Mom’s floating head pops into the hallway. I hoped to make it to my bedroom undetected. “Come in here. I could use your opinion. What do you think, honey, should we switch things up a bit and set up the bar over by the fireplace this year? Smokers kept leaving the sliding door open last year, and the poor bartender was as cold as his drinks.” 

“Yup. Great idea, Mom.” I keep walking and yell my reply from the stairs. “Sorry, I want to get ready first. I’ll come down after, ’kay?” 

I hear Mom give the instructions for the bar placement before I close my bedroom door, silence ringing loudly in my ears. 

Still looks, even smells, exactly the same. Mom and Dad haven’t moved a single thing. Car collectibles and models, posters of all my favorite vintage vehicles, everything exactly as I left it eleven years ago when I moved out for college. Even Nicolas Cage is still hanging behind my door, sitting on his precious Eleanor – a nineteen-sixty-seven Ford Mustang Shelby that held the dreams of a ten-year-old boy, and the reality of a thirty-year-old man. It’s always good to be back.

I decide to go ahead and soak for a bit. I love my modern walk-in shower, but a bathtub has its perks. I hang my suit for tonight on the hook behind the door, and put away my clothes for the week. 

I don’t mind house-sitting while the folks go away on their yearly honeymoon. My eyes roll at the thought. I can’t begrudge them the celebration or the trip, those two are head over heels thirteen years in. Yes, they love throwing dinner parties, but they also actually want to celebrate another year of being married to each other. I just wish it didn’t have to be a themed Valentine’s Day party. Year. After. Year.. After damn year. 

I strip in my bedroom out of habit. Sharing a bathroom with a sibling as a teenager taught me that much. The Jack and Jill bathroom was always a source of conflict. I loved it, instigated it, really. It was a constant race to lock it from the inside to keep the other one out. I was the undefeated champion. That isn’t an issue anymore, the former occupant of the adjoining room only shows up for the actual party. Usually fashionably late. 

I check the time on my phone, turn the knob and walk inside. I think the rest of my body registers the sight before my mind can. f*****g heaven on earth, in the shape of a sin so immoral, it will send me straight to hell. But who the f**k cares? 

Rose Valentine is leaning over the tub, one hand under the running faucet while the other holds her upper body in a perfect arch, her ass pointing to the Almighty. 

“James! Get the f**k out!” Rose is scrambling to grab a towel and cover herself. She’s flustered and fumbles, it takes her a good five seconds to hide her f*****g gorgeous body. I’m staring, taking in as much of her as I possibly can and not even trying to hide it. f**k. She is absolutely stunning. 

The little unexpected peep-show gets my blood warm and flowing, and it is all going straight to my c**k. I’m also not trying to hide it. I mean, it is only fair. She showed me hers, albeit unwillingly, so I’ll show her mine. I am still wearing boxers, but the visible tent in them definitely catches her eye. 

“James!” She shouts again.

“Relax, would you, Rosy? You have nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Not on me, you f*****g creep!” I smirk at her. It is not easy to pull off wrath in a fluffy pistachio-colored towel, but she is doing it. “What the hell kind of reaction is that to have for your sister?” Rose points at my crotch. I stand on the balls of my feet to swing forward and bring even more attention to it. 

Bingo. 

She’s staring too. I see the dry gulp of air she swallows as she does.

“Like what you see?” My voice shakes her out of the reverie and I watch as she closes her eyes tightly, regaining composure.

“What? I’m your sister, you pervert!” 

“Step-sister,” I correct her. “I am a man. I have eyes.”

“That’s not all you have,” she scolds indignantly. One of her perfectly manicured hands is clasping the terry cloth, the other one, pointing at my groin. “And if you want to keep it attached to your body, you will get the hell out!” 

She doesn’t wait for me to move, she charges at me and pushes me out, closing the door on my nose. I go for the knob as a reflex, but she’s faster this time. I’m locked out. She won this battle. 

I hear her grab her things and storm down the hall. A door slams. Just like the good old days. Teenage Rose slammed doors at least twice a day.

Since she locked me out, I have to access the bathroom from her side. I tuck my hard d**k in the waistband of my underwear and walk down the hall, not caring if anybody sees. Let them feast their eyes. 

The door to Rose’s room is wide open, it also hasn’t changed one bit. There is an open suitcase on the bed. Completely out of character for her. She always comes for the party and leaves right after. I make a mental note to get to the bottom of that. No f*****g way am I staying in this house with her and her insipid good-for-show boyfriend, sleeping down the hall.

She left the water running when she ran away, I’m just not sure if she’s running from me or herself. The half-full tub welcomes me in, soothing tense muscles but doing nothing for my hard c**k. 

I have definitely wondered what she looks like naked, and jerked off to the idea of her over the years. But it was all innocent… as innocent as getting hard over someone you can’t have ever is. Finally seeing her has given all those fantasies a whole different reality to go on. Gasoline on the embers of a budding fire. For the first time I find myself picturing it actually happening.

I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve thought about Rose in a way I probably shouldn’t have, but it didn’t bother me. At the end of the day, we aren’t blood-related and I am only a man. The flesh is weak, some bits of flesh much weaker than others. There is no real issue besides the imposed societal norms, which I can’t give a s**t about. Rose though? Social conventions are the air she breathes. She’s uptight and strict, leading a beige-on-beige life bound by a f*****g book of rules no one but her gives a damn about.

I fist my d**k in my hand while my mind dangles on the edge of a precipice of dark lust. I can’t help but pump, each stroke harder, fueled by perky pink t**s and a taught ass I wouldn’t mind desecrating. She’d flick me all the way back to the city if she could read my mind right now. A part of me wishes she could. 

Would she use the pent-up anger behind all these years of fighting and teasing between us as incentive? I know I would. Angry s*x is the best and I am an expert at it. I’d make her scream; make her proper, rehearsed, polite little voice reach decibels that would shatter the lies she tells herself about what she really wants.

I pump harder. My head bangs against the side of the tub as I jerk back. 

I see her riding me behind my closed lids. Bouncing to the rhythm of my groans. I can feel her hands on my chest as she lifts herself and sinks back onto me. The force of my hand, milking my c**k to the very last drop is sending sloshes of water over the glazed edge. I bite my tongue and my lip to keep the sound of pleasure from permeating the walls. 

I come. I come hard to the image of a perfect redhead f*****g me as if her life depended on it. The pace of my hand decreases until I’m down to gentle strokes, waiting for the ‘what the f***s’ to torment me. But they never come.

Well, f**k my life! Given the chance, I’d actually do it.

I get dressed in a trance; my mind boggled by the recent realization. No use in mulling over it, though.

 I head back down, ready to be hit by an overload of unapologetic Valentine’s Day décor. As predicted, arrows and hearts line every wall, an explosion of red has tainted every visible surface. Some of it has even landed on my tie. Dress code. Everyone must wear at least some red.

“Archie!” My mom squeals from behind me. She’s the only person who calls me that. “There you are, my baby. Give your mother some sugar.” She practically smothers me with her signature bear hug. Even though she’s smaller than me, her love is so big it crushes my bones. 

She places a headband with heart antennas on my head and stuffs a red handkerchief in the pocket of my suit jacket, trying to blend me further into the scenery. “There, much better. Where’s your sister?”

“Rosy’s here already?” I fake surprise. No need to have my mother calling a priest for an exorcism just yet. The doorbell cuts us off, and I get no more information about why my stepsister came early this year.

“Go get that for me, will you, dear? I just have to run upstairs for my pearl necklace. Find your sister, will you?” My mom yells on her way up. Pearl necklace… she’d be clutching those if she knew.

I yank the headband off before I open the door. I do it a couple of times, before someone from the catering company finally takes my place as the door man. The house is quickly filling with friends and family, but sister dearest is nowhere to be seen. 

I saw the way she stared at me. Did she uncover the buried need to scratch an itch like I did? That would surely push her over the brink of annoyance. I turn my back to the door and see her standing at the top of the steps.

“Finally, buttercup.” Teasing Rose is a sport I have always excelled at. The annoyed flush on her cheeks never disappoints. It invariably makes me think of all the other supple, dark, hidden places that might be feeling the sudden rush of blood. 

She is wearing a red satin dress, conforming to our parents’ ridiculous dress code for this miserable evening. That’s where the conforming stops. The dress is tight as sin with a slit that almost reaches her slit. I can see the outline of her ribs, the outline of her goddamn n*****s. And I would bet my twitching c**k she is not wearing any panties under it. 

I know she can feel the weight of my stare as I peruse her figure where she stands. f**k. She’s wearing stilettos, or whatever the hell they are called. All I know is they make her legs look like f*****g death traps. I’m expecting the standard snarky reply but it doesn’t come. Instead, she’s just standing atop the staircase of the home we grew up in — or whatever is still visible of it underneath the red hearts, arrows and Cupid decorations my mother happily plastered on to anything that couldn’t protest.

“James.” Her tone does nothing to hide the contempt she charges my name with.

“That’s it, sis? I haven’t seen you since last year’s anniversary festivities. I deserve more.”

“I’m not in the mood today.” I’m guessing that’s my fault and I can’t help but stick my finger into that wound.

“Why? Is what’s-his-face acting weird already?” Rose pushes past me, dodging a waiter wearing a headband with heart antennas like the one I tossed. My hand grabs on to her arm, turning her around to face me. “Oh c’mon, it’s only fun when you fight back.”

“Greg’s not here, okay?” She angrily replies. Greg. That’s her insipid, joke of a boyfriend’s name. That’s why she’s upset? It’s not because of me after all. A tight pang of something hits me unpredictably, I didn’t expect to be disappointed, but I am. 

She finally fights back by pulling her arm out of my grasp and fielding the crowd, beelining towards the bar. I follow. I always follow. Besides, from two steps behind her, I confirm my suspicions that there is nothing but a thin layer of satin between her skin and the world. 

The man-child behind the bar is ogling her. f**k that. I pull her by the shoulders, take a longer step, reaching the bar first, blocking her from the help’s view. He can feast his eyes on my back. “She’ll have a margarita. A scotch, neat, for me.”

Rose clenches her jaw. There it is, the lovely frustration I’ve been waiting for. “Is that what I wanted, your royal assholeness?”

“A flower for a flower,” I muse with a smirk. I think she mumbled ‘insufferable’, I can’t be sure. “I always know what you want, Rosy.” My voice drops, catching her attention. Her eyes are finally on mine. Defiant. Sexy as hell. She doesn’t even know how sexy she is. 

“Your drink, miss.” 

I pull a bill out of my pocket, a generous tip for free drinks, slide it on the counter and take the margarita before Rose can, together with my glass. “Keep them coming. And keep your eyes to yourself if you don’t want them spinning in the back of your skull.” 

With a huff, Rose sticks her hand out, demanding her drink. Instead, I run the cold, salty, glass surface up her arm. Her body rewards me, just like I hoped it would. Her pores raise, goosebumps coat her silky skin and, my ultimate prize — her n*****s pebble under her dress. Taut and firm. Mouth-f*****g-watering. 

God, I love satin. 

Placing the margarita in her hand, I can’t help but try and test the waters. The back of my fingers extend just enough to graze the hardened flesh, my stare firmly set on hers, taking in her every reaction. Now that I know exactly what shade of delicious pink they are, the picture is clear and f*****g vivid. She doesn’t flinch. Her breath is caught in her throat, her mouth a little ajar.  Shock, maybe? She holds it in, her chest immobile in a silent consent her words cannot speak.

“Oops, sorry. It’s a reflex.” Not exactly a lie.

“The reflex of a manwhore.” Her breath finally releases in a huff. She is trying to be mad, her dilated pupils and rising chest tell me a different story.

I dip my finger in her cocktail, then slowly run it over the salt trail I left on her arm. “I prefer rake,” I correct, sucking my finger clean.

“Vintage manwhore then.”

“That reminds me. Where is saint Greg? Late as usual?”

“No. I came without him.”

“The story of your life, I imagine,” I reply with a brow wiggle and a chuckle, earning me an eyeroll, but no counter. That’s not the Rosy I know. I bite my tongue and backtrack, she’s truly bothered. Something tells me this is the reason for the full suitcase in her bedroom. “Why’s that?” 

“None of your damn business, James.” She downs her drink and turns her back to me. As much as I appreciate the view, I pull her back and I’m met with that pair of piercing blue eyes, sparkling under a layer of unshed tears. But what I see isn’t sadness, it’s resentment and anger. 

I can feel my blood boiling, my hands clenching in a rage I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Rose winces under my grip and I snap back to reality and loosen it.

“Did he hurt you, Rose?” I am dead serious now, my face reflecting the shade of the décor like a mirror, as I wait for her answer.

“No, James he didn’t.” She pulls away from my vice grip, but my gaze still has her pinned down to her spot. Her face starts to shed her defiance, her guard dropping as I pry again.

“Tell me what happened or I’ll go pay him a visit right now and pull it out of him.” She knows me, she knows my threats are never empty. She’s been on the receiving end since she was fifteen, and knows just how deeply carved in stone my promises are. “Rose,” I grunt in another warning.

“We broke up, okay? But you can’t say anything. Not tonight, James.” My hands rush through my hair. I shouldn’t have opinions or feelings about this, but f**k do I. “Promise me, James.”

“Rose–”

“James, please. I don’t want to be explaining myself today. I need time to process and figure out how I’m telling Dad.” She interrupts me, taking away all the bickering ammo I had with her sincere words. “Today, James, all I need is another drink and rebound sex.”

“Rebound s*x?” So that’s the deal with the dress. “I’m in shock! What have you done with my by-the-book, innocent Rosy?”

“Shut up. And yes, rebound s*x, revenge s*x, call it whatever you want, but I’m having it.”

“Bravo, Rose Valentine.” I give her a small ovation. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! I knew you couldn’t be all pantsuits and button ups.” She swats my shoulder for my mockery but can’t hold her giggle back. 

“Maybe the guy behind the bar would be up for it?” She motions towards him for another drink. Her second intentions are clear in the flirty smile she’s sporting. 

No, no, no and hell no. 

“All that boy behind the bar is good for is getting you a drink, not getting you off.” My voice comes out low and laced with an aggression I couldn’t control. “If you want oblivion, you need a man.” Her eyebrow is raised high in defiance.

“Anyone you recommend?” I chuckle and pull her closer, my hand resting on the small of her back.

“We’re kicking Greg to the curb tonight, buttercup.”

“What?” Her nose is scrunched in disgust, but I know it’s faker than the snake skin on her shoes.

“I know you liked what you saw up there. Don’t you tell me you have never m*********d to the thought of me.”

“No. Never,” she stammers back immediately, almost too eager to deny it. “Wait, have you?” I can’t hold the smile back as I see her flustered cheeks when she realizes the truth.

“I am a man. I have eyes!” I echo the words I used earlier. I scan her body over once again, in that tight, sinful dress, and I know now it’s screaming revenge and liberation. She doesn’t curl to hide from my eyes. Instead, she stands straighter, perking those sexy n*****s towards me again. “Now I have actually seen you naked. Thanks for providing me with a much more accurate mental picture.”

“I would be ashamed to even say I need that. Can’t you find anyone to satisfy your needs, brother?”

“I have. And you will.”

“Aw, look at the two of you getting along.” My mom cues in, tagging Henry behind her. Dad, as I’ve grown used to calling him. “See? You can play nice when you want to.” 

I’d rather play as dirty as I can. I f*****g will.

I inwardly chuckle, almost choking on the scotch I drank to keep my mouth busy while Mom and Dad each take turns smothering Rose in hugs and kisses as they always do. 

“I always play nice, Mom. Buttercup here is the problem child.” I always made sure the blame for my pranks and tricks landed on her. Come to think of it, I might have a good idea why she was always slamming those doors after all.

“Well, as long as you don’t burn the house down this week, I’m good,” Dad replies, glancing over at the both of us in a silent warning, before pulling me into a hug. Rose is staying for the week. “We’ll be leaving tonight after the party, so you kids be good.” He extends his arm, uncovering his expensive Breitling from under his sleeve. “What time is Greg arriving, Rosy?”

Her eyes dart straight at me, almost popping out of their sockets, just before she grabs my pinky and bends it back. “Hum… he won’t be able to make it tonight, Dad. I’m sorry.” Her smile is faint and not quite as convincing as she’s hoping. If she wants to keep Dad in the dark, she’ll have to put more effort into it.  

“Snow’s a b***h this time of the year,” I chime in to save her day.

“Archie! Language, sweetie. We have guests. Speaking of which,” Mom turns around and scans the room, looking for people she hasn’t welcomed yet. It’s the same dance every single year. 

I raise my glass to them as they leave us, while Rose finally breathes out in relief, pulling me towards the dining room for some privacy. The table is impeccably set, with more silverware than one could use, and the seats assigned as usual. I don’t even have to look to know I’ll be next to Mom and Rosy next to Dad.

“Thank you for helping.”

I scoff and take another sip of my scotch. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Rosy.”

“What is your game, Archer?” She accuses, her arms crossing in front of her chest. She means business. Whenever Rose calls me Archer she’s doing one of two things; either showing me we are opposites on the battlefield or negotiating the terms of her rendition. 

“I’ve shown you mine, buttercup. You’re the one who’s all bothered. You need a good rebound to recover and forget. Shake all that vanilla off, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Greg isn’t vanilla!” I couldn’t hold the laugh from rumbling out of my chest.

“Greg couldn’t find your c**t with a map and a flashlight,” I reply, watching as my words aggravate the inner nun in her. I walk closer to her until her back hits the wall leaning in to whisper. “You need someone who knows how to read you like Braille. Just. By. Touch.” I slide my finger down her neck making her shiver under my touch. I step back, that’s all confirmation I need.

“Do you mean you?” She manages to speak.

“Why not me? We have cause and opportunity. Just imagine how many times I can make you forget Greg during a whole week.”

“Oh, I don’t know, let me think. Incest?”

“I’m not your brother, Rose. We are not blood related.”

“By marriage is enough. No, James. Hard pass.”

“I can prove to you that you want it too. No hands.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can, Rose.” I step closer again, before sweeping my surroundings for prying eyes, my lips glued to her ear. “How many times can you come before you pass out, Rose? I can’t wait to taste that sweet ass of yours. I’m betting my balls that it’s uncharted territory. How long will you last before you’re calling me Daddy and begging for more? How long until my balls are hitting your chin as you swallow me whole? I’d say… end of dinner.” I take a step back, appreciating the flustered mess she’s become. I tilt my head with a satisfied grin on my face. ‘I told you so’ plastered all over my attitude.

“That proves nothing, Archer.” 

Archer. Surrender or pointing out our differences? Both suit my purposes.

“You want proof?” I chuckle, darting to the table and rearranging the seating cards so that Rose is now sitting next to me. “I’ll show you proof, Valentine. Just wait until I step in.”

****

The full novella can be found under the same name "Step-In Valentine" on a*****n and free with KU.