Natural Disaster, page 12
“I’ll try.”
“Try?”
“To trust you.”
Guthrie was being seduced. No one had ever taken the care with him that Luke was. That was evidently what happened when you subsisted on casual hookups and one-off dates—people didn’t care. Then someone came along and truly focused, spent time learning what turned his crank, and it was terrifying. Wonderful, but terrifying.
Luke had moved up Guthrie’s legs slowly, lavishing them with kisses and a massage that left Guthrie simultaneously melting into his bedspread and shivering with anticipation. After making it to the tops of Guthrie’s thighs, he flipped Guthrie onto his stomach and started back down at his feet.
Guthrie moaned. He wanted this—the slow seduction—but he also wanted to come, to fuck out this buzzing in his veins. Luke slipped his hands up Guthrie’s boxer briefs while kissing and licking the back of his knees. Guthrie couldn’t help it—he thrust against his mattress. A growling groan sounded against his leg. Luke sat up and tugged Guthrie’s underwear down and off.
“Do that again?” Luke said.
“What?” Guthrie’s head was spinning over his sudden nakedness.
“Move against the bed.”
A shudder twisted down Guthrie’s back. He rotated his hips.
“Yes,” Luke hissed. He grabbed Guthrie’s ass with both hands, kneading him roughly. “God. Keep doing that. So sexy watching your body move.”
Luke spread Guthrie’s cheeks, and a whine sounded in Guthrie’s ears before he realized he was making it. He had trouble caring, especially when Luke spit on his hole before leaning down and giving it a quick, thorough lick.
“Oh God. Bottom. I want to bottom,” Guthrie said. He’d figured that was the direction this rodeo was heading, but he hadn’t given a preference earlier. He normally did what pleased his partner the most, deferring to them. It was easier that way. Less chance of rejection. Now his preference was very distinct.
Luke chuckled darkly and moved his hands to Guthrie’s lower back, rubbing out knots and tension all the way up Guthrie’s spine. When they’d first gotten to his townhome, Guthrie’s body had felt too responsive, like all of his senses were open to the elements, but Luke’s touch was a comfort. Luke buffed, massaged, and molded Guthrie’s muscles with his strong hands until Guthrie wasn’t bursting out of his own skin. It was exactly what he needed.
He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Luke could read him so easily, or that Luke was delivering and then some. Guthrie was trying to trust, but it was hard.
Luke settled his clothed and sizable cock against Guthrie’s ass and stretched out over him. They moved together. Guthrie loved Luke’s weight on him. His scent. The heat of his skin. Loved the way Luke was showering his neck and shoulders with kisses. Guthrie closed his eyes and let himself drift in this warm, happy, relaxing moment.
He was in such a dreamy mind space that he barely noticed when Luke placed one last kiss on his ear and sat up. Then suddenly, Luke’s fingers were on his ass.
“Do you have lube?”
“There,” Guthrie said, pointing weakly at the bedside table. Luke was back, lube and a line of condoms in hand, before Guthrie had dropped his arm. It went quickly from there, Guthrie content to let Luke do all the work.
And Luke knew how to work it. He prepped Guthrie quickly before pushing his way in gently, his cock stretching Guthrie’s hole without any pain or pinch.
“Oh man. I didn’t even get to see your cock,” Guthrie said when it occurred to him that maybe he was being too passive.
He was flat on his stomach, sprawled out, legs askew. Vulnerability coiled up his spine. This was why he stuck to casual fucks—it was easier not to be troubled by the other person’s opinions of your hairy body or tan lines or lack of flexibility when it was casual.
Guthrie cared what Luke thought and wanted this to be as wonderful for Luke as it was turning out for him.
“Don’t tense, Guthrie. I’ve got you,” Luke said as he pulsed his hips, which sent a bolt of heat through Guthrie’s gut. “I’ll give you a nice long look at my cock in a bit. I have this dream of coming all over your hairy chest.” Luke wrapped one hand under Guthrie’s torso and tangled their fingers together. “Do you like this?”
“Everything about this is fucking great.” If Guthrie could just turn his mind back off, he was pretty sure he’d love it.
Luke pressed a groaning kiss to the back of Guthrie’s neck and shafted into him slow and strong and measured, each thrust and retreat dragging against that hot, sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. Luke’s hips were magic. He covered Guthrie with kisses, holding him like he was precious. Like this was.
It wasn’t enough to get him off—Guthrie would need a lot more friction on his cock for that—but it did send him right back into that hazy, lazy space he craved.
A sharp shudder rolled through Luke, and he pulled out without warning. He flipped Guthrie onto his back. Guthrie’s greedy hands immediately sought Luke’s stomach. He couldn’t get over the tattoos Luke had been hiding under his clothes this whole time. There was so much to see, to touch.
Luke’s body was a dream. He was broad and hard with a barrel torso and firm belly. He was obviously a workout king—strong and solid—but with a bit of softness that hinted at lushness and indulgence.
Luke pressed into Guthrie again, harder now, and stared down at him with a smile on his face. As they touched and kissed and fucked, Luke never lost the joyful expression.
“You look happy,” Guthrie gasped out.
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m inside you…. Kissing you. Nothing not to be happy about.”
Guthrie had never been smiled at so much during sex, had never experienced so many tender, soft gazes or jubilant kisses.
Evidently, he’d been surviving on angsty sex for years, because this was a revelation, especially as Luke’s body blanketed him completely. Guthrie coursed his hands over Luke’s back, his hard-as-a-rock butt, his legs, touching everything he could until the pleasure inside him sharpened and he had to peel a hand away from Luke’s gorgeous body to grip his own cock.
Guthrie’s moans were animal-like, almost wounded and panicky. He pressed the noises into Luke’s lips.
Luke tore his mouth away. “I’m gonna come.”
“My chest. Please.”
Luke pulled out and ripped the condom off. Yes. Guthrie finally got a gander at that beautiful dick. It was fat and meaty and freaking fantastic as it spurted a shower of hot, white spunk across Guthrie’s chest and stomach.
The visual made Guthrie tense and fuck the air above him.
“Luke, please.” Guthrie jerked himself faster. Harder, but it wasn’t enough.
Luke leaned in and nuzzled the semen from Guthrie’s chest hair, a cat-who-got-the-canary grin on his face. “What do you need?”
“Fill me up. Get back inside me…. Hurry, hurry. Luke.” Guthrie wanted that hard, impossible stretch to catapult him over the edge.
Luke’s eyes widened. “Bossy. Love it.” He groped around for another condom, ripped it open with his teeth, and slicked it on. He was still hard, probably all that tornado adrenaline that had yet to dissipate, but Guthrie didn’t care about the cause of Luke’s boner as long as that boner got back inside him.
When Luke shoved in, he jerked and trembled, obviously overstimulated but determined. Guthrie’s eyes fluttered closed and his hand flew over his cock. Luke caressed his stomach, his chest, his sides, showering him in firm, wonderful touches. Guthrie had never felt so taken care of.
His orgasm thundered to the surface, and he grabbed Luke’s hand and squeezed it tight, trying to ground himself as he blew to pieces, shattering so completely he couldn’t speak.
In the aftermath, Luke rocked into Guthrie gently and rained kissed down all over his face before withdrawing and getting out of bed to ditch the two condoms. Guthrie groaned as Luke walked away. The man had tattoos covering one side of his ass.
Guthrie stared up at the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom, his mind trying to pull him into freak-out mode, but his body was too satisfied to listen. He fell asleep before Luke returned.
Chapter Twelve
When Guthrie’s alarm went off at two thirty, after less than four hours of sleep, he was surprised by the heat of Luke against his chest. Guthrie was the big spoon, and he really liked it.
He reluctantly rolled away from Luke to silence the alarm. Luke turned with him, nuzzling into Guthrie’s armpit. Luke’s hair was a bird’s nest of curls. Guthrie allowed himself a few seconds of pressing his face into it before whispering, “I have to go to work.”
Luke grunted and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll get up.”
“You don’t have to. Leave whenever you want.”
“You’re not kicking me out?”
“No. It’s the middle of the night.”
“God, how do you deal with these crazy hours?”
“Well, I normally go to bed much earlier than last night.” Another reason his dating life was shit.
“Guess it’s a good thing we’re not expecting bad weather today. You need an afternoon nap.”
“I won’t get one. I’m filming a story at the Red Dirt Regatta festival today after the morning broadcasts.” The Red Dirt Regatta celebrated rowing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, and dragon boating on the Oklahoma River.
“That’s right. I’ll be there too. We’re working the KTTY booth together.” Luke plopped his head down on Guthrie’s chest and sighed. “Sorry I kept you up last night.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen asleep without you.”
“Mmm. I liked putting you to bed.” Luke licked Guthrie’s nipple, and Guthrie threaded his fingers into Luke’s messy hair on a groan.
“Okay, hotshot. None of that.”
“Fine.” Luke pouted, which was adorable, but he also released Guthrie, who took the opportunity to climb out of bed. Luke’s eyes were already hazy with the return of sleep.
“We should talk this afternoon,” Guthrie said. Mixing sex, tornadoes, and working together was surely a disaster waiting to happen. But Guthrie had wanted it. Had needed Luke last night, and that was petrifying.
Luke blinked his eyes open, some of the lethargy leaving his body. “That’s a good idea.”
“I know. I’m brilliant.”
“You are.” Luke’s words were tossed out there earnestly, making Guthrie feel exposed and silly for his snark.
“Anyway, I’m going to shower, then hit the road. Do you need to set your alarm?”
“No, I did it last night. Now get out of here before I pull you back in bed.”
Guthrie left the room with a smile.
That smile lasted him through his middle-of-the-night commute, as well as his package story on the tornado from the day before.
As his morning drew to a close, Debbie Debarr paid him a visit. He respected Debbie. She was good at her job—competent, tough, no-nonsense—but man, she had been the bearer of bad news for him lately.
“Mr. Gale, my office, please,” she said.
He followed her through the newsroom and blinked the sleepiness from his eyes. He’d need his wits about him for this, but he was hankering for his bed.
Once he sat, she said, “Are you all set to attend the Red Dirt Regatta this afternoon? I know you had a long day yesterday.”
“I’ll be fine.” Guthrie had been looking forward to filming a story on the Native Youth Crew Club at the festival.
“Brad wants to interview you and Luke again. I thought that might be a good place to do it.”
Guthrie managed not to roll his eyes. This focus on them wasn’t puttering out like it should.
“I told Brad to stick to discussing yesterday’s storm,” she said, reading him. “I don’t want his project to devolve too much into junk for clicks. We need some real content interspersed.” Her smile turned sharp.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Debbie studied him for a few long seconds. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Why? Is something wrong?”
She shrugged. “I figured if you were going to throw in the towel, today would have been the day. Last night was intense.”
A flush of heat rolled over him. He’d been so wrapped up in Luke, he’d almost forgotten yesterday’s scares. “I like my job. I don’t want to lose it,” he said staunchly.
It was the truth. When KTTY wasn’t forcing him to storm chase, at least. He liked telling people’s stories, was adamant about that goal, even as a tiny shred of doubt in his mind told him there might be better ways, better avenues to do so.
“Just checking on you. You were steamrolled into this stuff with Luke and the storm chasing. For that, I’m sorry, but you’re doing a fantastic job. I want you to know that.”
“Thanks.” Maybe he should tell her that he hated it, that it caused him distress in multiple ways, but he bit his lip instead. He didn’t want to lose his Luke time yet.
“That’s all I had.” Debbie pulled a notepad toward her and scribbled something down. Guthrie took the opportunity to skedaddle.
When Guthrie arrived at the Red Dirt Regatta, the women’s double sculls event was in full swing. He waved at the sports reporters as he made his way down the river. They looked wildly out of their element. He was glad it wasn’t his job to pretend to understand water sports today. Instead, his job was to interview the coach of the Native Youth Crew Club and avoid stirring up speculation about him and Luke.
Luke. Guthrie just wanted to sit and think about him. Remember him. Freak out about him.
“Guthrie!”
“Speak of the devil,” Guthrie mumbled as he turned around. Luke’s hair was down around his shoulders, shining in the sun, and he had a camera around his neck. His KTTY polo was too preppy for him. Guthrie wanted to open the buttons at the neck with his teeth.
Luke snapped a picture of Guthrie from several feet away, then pulled him into a back-slapping bro hug. “What’s the plan today, cowboy?”
Guthrie checked his watch. “Let’s grab some lunch and wander around. We relieve Johanna and Dee at the KTTY booth at one. Then I’ve got to film a quick feature before we meet up with Brad.”
“Can I be your shadow?”
“Sure.”
They made their way to the row of food trucks.
“Oh, steak fries. I love those,” Luke said.
Guthrie turned to see where Luke was pointing and laughed. The sign read “calf fries” not “steak fries.”
“I’ll share some with you,” Guthrie said.
“Okay.” So much trust. It almost made Guthrie feel bad.
“Want to get us some pulled pork sandwiches from the Okie BBQ place over there and I’ll get us these?” Guthrie asked, gesturing to the calf fries food truck.
“That sounds great.” Luke touched his forearm and smiled.
Within ten minutes, they’d found a bench facing the water and had two pulled pork sandwiches, two iced teas, and calf fries with three different sauces between them.
“These aren’t fries,” Luke said.
“Nope.”
Guthrie dipped one of the calf fries in cocktail sauce, then popped it in his mouth. It was about the size of a chicken nugget. He chewed and swallowed.
Luke watched him. “They’re nuts, aren’t they?”
Laughter choked Guthrie up. “Sorry. I was going to tell you before you ate one, but yes, they’re calf fries.”
Luke turned around on the bench to frown at the food truck. “I misread. We call them Rocky Mountain oysters in California. Not nearly as confusing.”
“Unless you get confused and think they’re actually oysters. You gonna try one?”
Luke took a deep breath, dunked the calf fry in horseradish sauce, and shoved it in his mouth. “Tastes like fried food.”
“I know. They’re kind of meaty, but mostly tasteless. My mom says they taste like liver, but I only notice the breading. Want me to find you some french fries?”
“Nah. Balls don’t scare me.” Luke tried the calf fries with each sauce. Guthrie loved how game he was about it. Luke’s eyes sparkled as he licked a blob of horseradish sauce off his finger.
Guthrie shook his head, a smile stretching his cheeks. “So ornery.”
“I love how you say that. ‘Ornery.’”
“I should have said juvenile.”
Luke laughed and nodded, taking a big bite of his pulled pork sandwich.
The day was pleasant, with a light breeze and warm sunshine without being muggy or hot, and Guthrie was here with a man he liked, eating great food, basking in the wonderful weather. Warmth infused his bones, and he almost relaxed.
Appearing relaxed came easily to Guthrie. Actually relaxing did not. He didn’t trust these cozy, warm, gooey feelings. Didn’t trust them at all.
“We need to talk,” Guthrie said.
“I’m all for talking,” Luke said. “Last night was nice.”
Luke had spent the morning picking apart all of his decisions from the night before, which was not ideal while teaching a strenuous workout class. He had a rule about not screwing around with other storm chasers for a reason. He didn’t want the drama, but his need for Guthrie had barreled through that.
Guthrie was special.
“It was. Maybe not a good idea, though.” Guthrie glanced around, as if to make sure they were alone. “You know, sleeping with a coworker.”
“Do you regret it?” Luke asked.
“Of course not. I’m just worried.”
“About what?”
“Everything. But that’s normal for me. I have trust issues,” Guthrie said, a bit of humor in his deep, slow voice. “What if we keep fooling around and one of us gets hurt in the end? What if my feelings are more intense than yours, or vice versa? What if I fuck this up and you can’t handle being in a vehicle with me? What if we fizzle out before storm season is over? And that’s presupposing that either of us want a relationship. Maybe you wanted a one-off.”
