Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)

by Karissa Kinword

“Think about it,” I prompted him. “Treat me like you would any other date you picked up on Hook(Up), and I’ll be like a live critique partner.”

“You’re on to something,” he agreed. “And on my end, I’ll show you what you should be expecting from any guy that takes you out when you go back home. No more fucking the bottom of the barrel because they bought you a Frosty.” “That was literally one time.” Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “Kidding.” I reached over and slapped his thigh and he grabbed my hand and kept it there. “I’m serious about this. You took this trip to do something for yourself for once. So have some fun, make the most out of me for the next couple weeks. Drive me crazy, which I already know you love to do.”

“Kiss me back,” he said. “Is this us shaking on it?” “Consensual, mind-blowing, no-strings-attached sex. New year, we call it.” I nodded, in utter wonderment over the whole thing. “You touch my dick…” “I touch yours.” He smiled.

Frankie wound an arm around my waist, corded his fingers through the hair at the back of my head with the other hand, and held me. “God, you’re fucking fun to kiss.” Answering, I tugged his lip between my teeth and sucked on it, which he really seemed to enjoy, because a low groan slipped out of his mouth that stirred me further awake between my legs.

“This feels good.” “This is fucking child’s play,” he huffed. “Tell me where to touch you. It turns me on.” Further turning him on might have put a hole through his shorts. I could feel exactly how ready Frankie was poking at my inner thigh. I shifted and lined my hips up over it. “I like getting kissed here,” I murmured, leaning down and demonstrating on his neck just under his jaw.

My entire body shuddered as I moved back and forth on his lap. “Fuck, do that again,” he told me. “You want it there so bad, don’t you?” “Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?” I sighed as his teeth sunk into my neck, followed by a kiss. “Only when I know you’re thinking it too.” Fuck it. If we were going to go all in on this, we might as well be vocal. “I want it here,” I said, guiding his hands to my chest.

“You want me to fuck you there?” I wanted him to fuck me everywhere. “Yes.” “Jesus fucking Christ, Ophelia,” he groaned. “Pull these down.” He tugged at the button on my shorts and freed the zipper, then lifted me with no effort whatsoever so I could shimmy the tight denim to my knees. Instead of taking them all the way off, he flipped me around, so my back was against his chest and my bare ass was in his lap with nothing but a black thong between us. “Tell me where else you want me to touch you,” he murmured against my ear. “Right here?” His fingers slid between my legs briefly, teasing the damp material. “Fucking hell, O. I wouldn’t even have to lick my fingers, would I? They would just slip right in.”

“I want to feel skin,” he said. “Keep riding me like that, Trouble. I’m about to fucking blow in my pants like a rookie.” Instinctually I reached back to touch, curling my fingers around his shaft and pumping it. His briefs were sticky with precum where the tip tented and I pinched and played with it. A tortured noise slipped through Frankie’s teeth. “Look at that,” he whispered. “You made me a mess.”

“I want to taste it,” I said. “Put it on my tongue.” He stilled for a second, understanding what I was asking for. The way we were sitting, I turned my head and our foreheads touched. “Do it.”

“Open your mouth,” Frankie said. I did as I was told and stuck my tongue out for good measure. Those two fingers pressed down on the muscle and my eyes did nothing short of roll back in my head. Who did I think I was? Rubbing my ass on a man on his living room floor with my pants around my knees, begging to taste his fucking precum.

“Show me how good you can suck,” he instructed me. My lips clamped down around his fingers and I took them all the way to the back of my throat. “That’s fucking right, so perfect, O.” Before I could blink he had me off his lap and on my stomach, my hips lifted, and my entire ass on full display. He tugged at the G-string and snapped it against my pussy. “Oh my god,” I whined. “That piece of scrap isn’t hiding anything from me. You should see how juicy this cunt looks.” He spread me open and hummed. “Can I have a taste, too?”

A second later, with Frankie’s mouth inches from that happy place between my legs, the fire alarm started shrieking above us. “What the fuck?” He jumped up off the floor holding his ears. “The cookies!” My eyes rounded. “Frankie, the fucking cookies are burning!”

All the lights were dimmed, save for some red and green mood setters that illuminated the walls behind the bed. Mateo’s impressive desktop setup was on and streaming, tiny icons hopping up and down where a video window was open. At the foot of the king-sized mattress sat a tripod with a giant circular light pointed down at the bed. It was what was happening on the bed that left Frankie and I speechless. “Oh, shit.” Mateo looked up and caught us standing in the door, shocked we’d actually pushed our way inside. Nat was on all fours in front of him, that skin tight Mrs. Claus corset unbuttoned and her fishnet stockings ripped open as she offered her ass to her boyfriend who was dressed as the fat man himself.

“Nobody’s judging,” Frankie assured her, pointing to his roommate. “But, why the fuck are you dressed like that?” “It’s an act.” Mateo ran his fingers through his fake white beard. “Mrs. Claus and Old Saint Dick.”

I hadn’t taken a woman out on a date in a decade. Flirting mercilessly with Ophelia was one thing, it was as natural as breathing—but a proper pick her up, open the car door, impress her with my charm and intelligence outing? That was something else entirely. Why the fuck was I so nervous?

Natalia didn’t know the random lunch with her family wasn’t random at all, and that Mateo had a string of things he needed to check off a list before Christmas—a private conversation with her father being one of them.

Frankie Casado in his twenties was a cocky, reckless, unchecked son of a bitch. In my thirties I was one misstep away from another spinal surgery. That dramatic change was at the heart of my insecurities, along with my ex and, most recently, the inability to keep a girl interested past a dating-app-mediated text conversation. Getting this day right with Ophelia was more important to me than I initially realized. Sure, it was showing her how a man should be treating her, but it was also proving to myself that I was still the kind of man who knew how to do that.

“Let’s not get too cocky, Maverick.” “Again with the Top Gun,” I complained, helping her hop into the seat. I gave her a playful smack on her ass on the way up and she yelped. “Just get in, Trouble.” “You’re getting points deducted for that.” Her silly notepad got a fresh lashing.

I was going to be this woman’s new standard whether she liked it or not.

“Your big bad walls are coming down, Frankie,” she quipped. “I didn’t know men who elected to spend their day at botanical gardens existed.” “That line is going on my dating profile like an editorial.” I laughed. “In quotes and everything, next to ‘Ophelia, 26, stunned and satisfied’.”

You know how those commercials tell you to call your doctor if you have a hard-on for more than four hours? Well, I was going on seven days and I hadn’t fucking taken anything.

“Look at how gorgeous this is.” She gasped. All around us were flowering green plants and tropical leaves, waterfalls, colorful birds, hundreds of butterflies circling, and greenhouse glass overhead like we had entered our own little fairy-tale terrarium. Then right there in the middle, the sylph herself putting all the spirits to shame. Bright yellow and unbelievably distracting. “There’s over twenty thousand butterflies floating around in here,” I told her as we walked along the guided path through the aviary. “Sometimes more, it depends on the time of the year.” As I said it, black and cobalt blue wings fluttered between the two of us. “Swallowtail.”

“How does the fighter pilot know so much about butterflies?” “What, do you think all my brain can comprehend is camouflage and gunfights?” She bit her lip. “No. I just can’t seem to figure you out.” “Well good, we’re on the same page then.” I said. “When Cap and I started the business, one of our first clients was right across the street from here. I kept passing the sign every morning on my drive and curiosity got the best of me.” “Solo butterfly date?”

“You wouldn’t have an orgy with our best friends.”

“Wouldn’t I?” She shrugged. “No, because you’re selfish, just like me.” I leaned in so I could whisper. “You need a man on his knees for you, and only you. I’ve told you this before, O, I don’t fucking share.”

Everything was natural. Spending time with her was kind of like slipping beneath the covers into freshly washed sheets. You just laid there for a while with a dopey smile on your face, kicking your feet around because it felt so damn good.

“Fun fact.” She smiled. “My sisters would love this place. I should send them a picture.” “I’ll take one,” I offered. “Oh no, I don’t need to be in it.” She chuckled nervously. “You look like you belong in this garden, Ophelia. Now get your cute, sunshine ass up on that bridge so I can take a fucking picture.” “So bossy,” she commented.

“Is this good?” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the camera. “Move a little bit to the left.” There were people walking around in the background ruining the shot. “Now lean against the post—no, not like that, that looks like you're a department store mannequin.” As she readjusted herself I snapped photos, catching those candid moments where I could tell she didn’t know whether to kill me or kiss me. “Add ‘Instagram boyfriend’ to your dating profile,” she suggested. “I don’t know what that is.” I squinted. “Can you move that one piece of hair behind your ear?” “You’re unbelievable.” She laughed, swiping the pesky strand away from her face. “Better?” “It was never bad; you know you’re killing me in that dress.”

“Now smile like you’re enjoying leisurely butterfly watching with the man who’s going to blow your back out later.”

“Got some good ones,” I said. “Just had to loosen you up a bit.” “I think you still get some points off for vulgarity.” “But I get some points added for photography, so we can call it even.”

The truth was, the only reason I ever walked into that butterfly museum the first time was because I felt that sick, pressing weakness trying to carve me open and I needed to shut it down. My mother used to tell me that my father was with her all the time, and whenever she was having a rough day, she’d see him in the butterflies. So I went alone, looking for my dad, embarrassingly enough, because there was no one else to talk to—and I kept going back. I went back all the time. But that wasn’t the kind of deep life shit you opened up about to a girl you barely knew.

It’s kind of stupid but I think that’s what all kids that age really need.” “That’s not stupid, Ophelia.” I shook my head. “You have a habit of doing that, you know?” “Doing what?” “Dulling all these admirable things about yourself. Stop being meek.” “I’m not being meek,” she argued. “Talking about second graders is never an interesting topic on a date. Men want to know things like where I’ve traveled, what the craziest thing I’ve ever done is, my body count⁠—” “No one should ever be asking you how many other people you’ve slept with,” I interrupted. “And any guy that’s even remotely worth your time is going to think everything about you is interesting. Because it is.”

“Do you want kids?” Her eyes flashed to mine. “Yes.” Then, she continued more seriously, “But I don’t want to fuck them up. I’m terrified to settle and get married and have kids with the wrong guy, and then repeat the same cycle as my parents. I can’t do that.” “That makes a lot of sense,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t get on yourself for being picky or deciding not to date someone because you’re expected to. I’m nearly forty. I’m not married, I don’t have kids, but it’s not because I don’t want those things. It’s because it hasn’t felt right to do that yet.” “Nat mentioned something about your ex.” Discomfort panged in my chest.

“I was in the military,” I reminded her. “Where interests are limited to drinking, fucking, and blowing shit up.” “Bet that uniform got you anything your pretty face wanted,” she teased. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t have gotten me you.”

A giant Blue Morpho had landed right on the crown of her head and was sitting there like it’d found a new home. “That’s incredible,” I whispered, slowly inching my phone out of my pocket to take a picture and show her. “Holy shit,” she gasped. “What do I do?” “They like when you sing to them,” I told her. “Really? Like, what kind of song?” “Like a slow jazz number.” “Are you fucking with me?” My mouth turned up on one side. “Give us your best Etta James.” Ophelia rolled her eyes, and even more spectacularly, the butterfly started crawling onto her forehead. “Oh, fuck. Oh god, I can feel its little feet on me.” “Fun fact,” I started. “No, fuck off with your fun facts.” “Butterflies use their feet to taste,” I continued. “It’s probably sampling your skin juice to find a suitable place to lay its eggs.” She curled in on herself. “Get it off me, respectfully.” I reached out to shoo it away, but the bug fluttered and landed on my forearm. “Hey, little guy.” “There, now it can slurp on your juices.” I grimaced. “God, O.” “I know, okay? I knew the second I said it.” “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Fun fact⁠—” “Can’t be worse than the last one.” We pushed through the doors of the exhibit. “A butterfly's life expectancy is only two to four weeks. So by the time you leave Florida, most of them will be dead.”

She wasn’t a girl, though. Maybe that was the problem. Ophelia was dating men that wanted tame and behaved. They wanted low aspiration, stay at home with the kids, have dinner ready when they got home, and missionary sex lasting long enough to get her going but never enough to get her off. Knowing she’d likely settle for that had me squeezing the steering wheel a little too tight.

“A haircut wouldn’t hurt.” I shrugged as we passed beneath a traffic light. “More to hold onto.” She laughed. “God, do you ever turn it off?” “Why would I when you’re sitting in my passenger seat with your dress around your hips like that practically daring me to pull over?”

She shifted in her seat to face me, and that dress slid up even higher. Fuck, please be wearing panties or I’m gonna drive off the goddamn road. “Anything else, smartass? I might not be too dusty after all.” “Yeah, your truck.” “My truck?” I scoffed. “This truck is a machine. What’s wrong with my truck?” “No bench seat.” I lifted the large center console to reveal a middle seat between us. “Try again.” Ophelia tossed her notebook onto the dash and unbuckled her seatbelt. “What are you doing?” My attention waned between her and the highway. She stretched her top half across the bench, lying on her stomach. Her head was so close to my crotch that my palms started to sweat. “Date’s over,” she noted mischievously. I blew out an unsteady breath and my dick picked up a pulse as she reached out and unfastened my belt buckle, little fingers working at the bulge of my zipper. My entire stomach tensed in anticipation. “Tell me you’re wearing your panties.” She stopped briefly to smirk up at me. Fuck, that view. Then, she pulled her dress up past her perfect, tan-lined ass to show me there wasn’t even a goddamn string of fabric between my fingers and that sweet pussy. “You’re fucking trouble,” I mumbled. “But you know that already, huh?” “I want to even the playing field.” She continued working on my shorts until my fly was completely loose. “So far I’m the only one that’s gotten any benefits out of this friendship.” “I’ve gotten plenty,” I rasped, right hand abandoning the steering ...

“Oh,” she mumbled. Seemingly to herself, but I heard every soft note of it. “You don’t have to,” I told her, all the while using my free hand to massage the tense muscles at the back of her neck. She wrapped her fingers around me and I groaned like a fucking virgin. “It’s been a while.” “Just drive, Frankie.” My focus shifted entirely to my lap as that first sampling lick of her tongue swept across the head of my cock. “Sweet,” she whispered. Sweet. She called the taste of me sweet, and my legs tensed so hard I probably pulled a muscle. Then she licked me again, and again, and the knot in my stomach unfurled with pleasure and spread its way down to my toes. “That’s real fucking good.” Flyaway hairs started falling in front of her eyes and I pushed them to the side. “Get me all wet.” O took that literally, reeling her head back the tiniest bit and spitting on it. “Jesus Christ.” My knuckles turned white on the wheel and I slowed to barely fucking sixty in the right lane.

“I needed this.” My head fell back on the headrest and my eyes lidded. “Needed you so bad.” I could feel her smile around me, the sharp edges of her teeth grazing everywhere I was sensitive. I was so hard it was starting to fucking hurt and her mouth was the perfect answer. How could I ever forget how good this felt? Did it ever feel this good? “You have a really nice dick,” Ophelia murmured.

She dipped and closed her mouth over the first few inches, finally putting an end to the tongue tease. I let out a long, low groan that would have been embarrassing if I gave a fuck anymore. “You’re good at this,” I bit out. “Look at you.” Her eyes flickered up and I knew the image of that pretty freckled face getting fucked would be what I got off thinking about for a long, long time.

Her messy bun bobbed up and down and started to come loose, so I fisted a hand in her hair and held it back. She moaned at the gesture, the vibration of her noises and her tongue tightening my groin. This was about to be over. “You like rough,” I noticed. “You like when I hold your throat down on my cock.” She nodded as her hand stroked all the way down to my base and held there, lips following. I lifted my fist and bit down on the knuckle. Then she choked. “The whole thing, huh?” I could hardly breathe, let alone focus on the exit I was supposed to be taking as I turned off the highway. “That’s a lot of fucking dick in your mouth, Ophelia.”

“Goddamnit, O,” I groaned. She flicked her tongue around it. “I’m gonna come down your throat.” She didn’t stop, only moaning more, sucking harder, working faster. Her fist and her mouth in perfect, lethal tandem. It felt so fucking good my heart was thundering against my rib cage. I wanted the feeling of reaching that peak to last forever. It was over. God, it was so fucking over for me.

I guided her up and down with both hands, racing my own release to see how much longer I could keep her going. “You want it?” I asked, voice stilted. “Yes,” she breathed, briefly pausing before taking me right down to the back of her throat. That did it. I slammed both hands into the steering wheel and rode out the ropes of my orgasm, grunting through clenched teeth. Years’ worth of pent-up release emptied itself, filling her mouth.

I forgot where I was when the car behind us laid on the horn and Ophelia startled, smacking the back of her head on the steering wheel. “Shit,” I panicked, hitting the gas and rubbing her head at the same time. In the rearview a woman in a minivan was flipping me off and I gave her one back. “Are you okay?” O started giggling, crawling backward out of my lap and shimmying her dress down her legs as I tucked myself away. Her laugh made me laugh, and we were both hysterical when I pulled back into Tally’s complex. “You talk a lot when you’re about to come.” She said. “You get real filthy.”

“I’ll tone it down,” I assured her. “No,” she objected. “It’s hot.”

I wanted to know what was going through her head. She’d just gotten me off; she must have been at least a little bit turned on. I walked my fingers across the bench seat and tugged at the hem of her dress. “Give me a couple minutes with her?” “Did you just refer to my vagina as her? “Them?” “Goodnight, Frankie.” Taking her bag, she pushed out of the passenger side door. “What are you doing?” I shouted. “I’m taking your advice,” she walked backward toward the door. “Not sleeping with a guy on the first date.”

I already knew I would be struggling to find a guy back in Pine Ridge that fit his mold.

I thought it’d be hard to find a man to match his first date habits, but in reality, I was putting myself on the fast track to being completely unsatisfied sexually for the remainder of my life. And he hadn’t even been inside me yet.