Page 3 of Needing His Touch
“You bet your ass they closed down, because they were shady little shits,” he grunts out his response. He’s not wrong. We were getting all of their fuckups, and I had to charge half price because my conscience couldn’t handle new clients losing their ass even more.
“Alright, Gramps. I’m going to drop this car off and move on to the next. You need me, you know how to get ahold of me.” I’d stay on the phone longer, except I’m going to have to do some paperwork and figure out where the next vehicle is located. Seeing as how half the damn town was an eight-foot-deep river, it’s anyone’s guess if the car is in a ditch, on top of another car, or sitting in a tree.
“That’s fine. I’ve got to get ready myself. Carsynn is coming over this afternoon, and I’m going to make my famous potato soup. The girl doesn’t eat nearly enough and works herself to the bone. Did I mention she reminds me of my Winnie?”Only about a million times. I bite my tongue and hum my response.
“Save me some of your soup with a healthy dose of bacon. I sure do miss real food.” Eating fast food or hotel continental breakfast has me ready to crawl out of my skin.
“You got it. Love you, boyo. Be safe.” One thing Gramps has never been shy about is telling anyone he cares about exactly how he feels.
“Thanks, Gramps, love you, too. Talk later.” I wait for his response. Ain’t no way I’ll hang up first without him saying goodbye. I did that once when I was younger and got a damn earful. Never again.
“Bye, Gabe.” I hit the end button and get this show back on the road, more than ready to be back home, this time for good.
3
CARSYNN
“Home sweet home.” I unlock the door to my place. It’s nice and quiet, the only noise is the heater running in the background. Still, there’s a briskness to the air because I kick the dial down when I leave each morning and turn it up when I get home before I take a much-needed shower. It was sheer luck or some random act of kindness to find this place when I did. The pictures on the social media marketplace seemed nice, and to be honest, pickiness was the least of my concerns. Anything is better than where I came from. My home doesn’t have a ceiling covered in water stains, the walls aren’t yellowed, and the place is beautifully kept up. The air is fresh, the appliances work, and I can take a long hot shower or bath without worrying about someone banging the door down because they need to use the toilet.
I kick off my shoes in the small, tiled foyer. The carpets are beige, and the vacuum lines are still perfect where I haven’t walked after I cleaned the small one-bedroom detached house. It’s not a studio apartment, which was a major selling point. I’ve also gotten into the habit of cleaning every night. Obsessive much? Probably so, but this place is mine, and the last thing I want to do is live in filth. I take my jacket off, hang it on the hook the owner has placed behind the door, and do the same with my purse. The first order of business is a glass of ice water, the book I picked up at the library, and a hot bath. My number one priority when I rolled into town was to secure a place, which I did, in cash. Depleting the majority of my bank account by handing over first month’s rent and a deposit was hard but so worth it. The apartment came furnished, so all I needed was bedding, towels, cleaning supplies, and food. The second order of business was to find a job, which didn’t take me long, seeing as how The Sunshine Diner had aNow Hiringsign up in the window. I filled out the application, and Nikki hired me on the spot. I started the very next day, and after work, even though I was dead on my feet and had zero energy in my bones, I left the diner and walked right to the library.
“Start the water first. The hot water is going to take a minute to heat up,” I breathe out loud. There aren’t a lot of downfalls to my home here in New Hampshire, minus the well that’s run for water. It’s downright cold water coming from the faucet, and it takes a while to come out hot. I walk through the tranquil living room. A small couch, coffee table, and end table are on one side, opposite a console table with a flat-screen television. It’s small and cozy, not that the TV is on a whole lot, only long enough in the mornings and evenings to check the weather. I’d rather not sit around listening to the news, or anything else for that matter. I prefer my nose stuck in a book or, on the rare occurrence when my tips are exceptionally well, a home decorating magazine.
I make my way into the kitchen, desperately thirsty for water after working at the diner. The weather is getting colder by the day. Ice will be forming on the roads here soon, and I know I’ll need to get my car looked at sooner or later to make sure the old girl can navigate the mountain roads. The cream walls are carried through the entirety of the house, making it easy to envision what I can add to the space when spring comes around and there will be more garage and rummage sales. The wooden kitchen cabinets are beautiful, and for this place being a rental, the owner really did go a long way in making it feel cozy. I open the cabinet, grab a plastic cup, and then move to the fridge for my iced water. So much for starting the bathtub first. Clearly, my thirst got the best of me. I don’t even bother filling the cup all the way before I’m guzzling it back. Once I’ve finished the first, I refill it and then head to the bathroom. I guess I’ll start the water while I do other tasks. The other thing I’m going to do is kick up the heat before anything else. There’s no way I’m going to be naked and freezing, no thanks. Just because I chose to move further north doesn’t mean I want to be an ice cube.
The thermostat is set at sixty-seven degrees. I kick it up another three, making a mental note to turn it back down after my bath. I’ll wear my flannel pajamas and throw an extra blanket over me if need be. My rent includes everything, like utilities and cable. The caveat is the power, though. If there’s a huge spike, then I could have to pay extra. My savings has dwindled with the move, and now I’m trying to replenish it as fast as possible. I know when the winter storms start hitting, roads could be closed, and that means getting to work will be nearly impossible.
I move to the bathroom and flip the switch. It has two doors, one that opens from the hallway and the other from the bedroom. A plus if you had people staying over. Since that won’t be happening, I keep the door to the hallway closed. It’s less aggravating when the heat kicks on and closes it in the middle of the night. I learned that lesson my very first night here. It wasn’t like I slept a lot the first few nights, getting acclimated to all the new noises, but that had me sitting up straight in bed. A flashback of my past life overwhelmed me, and I sat straight up, sweat coating my body and worry plaguing my mind. When I realized it wasn’t someone slamming the front door, a fatigue like no other hit me, and since then, the door has remained shut. I shake my head at the memory, reminding myself I’m safe, away from my parents and their monstrosity of a life. I pull the shower curtain out of the way, turn the faucet all the way to hot, and let the water run while I run into my bedroom to grab my book. The need to soak my tired and achy body has me wishing the water would hurry up. In the meantime, I take off my socks, unbutton my jeans, and then check on the water.
“Wow, that’s a shocker.” I pull my hand back quickly. The water pouring from the faucet is scorching hot. I turn it down a smidge, close the stopper, and finish taking off the clothes I wore to work. My reflection in the mirror catches my attention. No longer is my skin pale, my cheeks have filled back out, and I’m no longer looking like a walking zombie. I pull my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor, watching as my breasts bounce in the almost too-small bra now that I’ve put on a few pounds. I shimmy my hips, causing my jeans to fall to the floor, and I kick them the rest of the way off. The woman looking back at me is not the same person from a year ago, let alone a month ago.
She’s a warrior.
My arm bands around my back, and I flick the clasp to unhook my bra. It loosens, my hands drop, and then my panties follow suit until my clothes are all piled on the floor. I can’t help but notice the curves of my body. The tips of my fingers trail up my stomach. A shiver runs through my body, goose bumps pebble my flesh, and my hands take on a life of their own. My head tilts back, eyes shuddering as I cup each breast, my thumb sweeping over each nipple. I never thought I’d be a virgin at the age of twenty-five, yet given life’s circumstances, there was no way I’d take a chance of getting stuck in our town. It also didn’t help that everyone knew who my parents were. Not to mention when all you do is work, the friends you once had seem to disperse, making plans with others and forget all about you. I can’t say I blame them; it's the harsh reality when you lived a life like mine.
“Oh God,” I sigh. The lids of my eyes lift slightly. I’m self-confident in the way I look, but putting myself out there for a man after I’ve conditioned myself to blend in? I pinch my nipples, pulling on them, and feel the direct connection to my core. I work myself up while only playing with my breasts, knowing if I delay moving to my bare center hot and heavy, the orgasm I give myself will be all the stronger. Except today isn’t going to be one of those days. I need a release. My shoulders are to my ears, and for no good reason either. Except maybe the regency romance I’ve been reading. The duke takes his virgin bride, there are rumors that she’s not innocent, and when he takes her, there is no holding back. In fact, he bends her over, throws her skirts up, rips his pants down, and rams inside her as she cries out. Only to realize what he’s done. Well, the duke makes up for it. He pulls out, drops to his knees, and takes care of her until she’s ready.
One of my hands skates down my torso. A shiver races through my nervous system as I make my way to my center. The insides of my thighs quiver, all too aware of the orgasm I’m chasing. I watch the entire show of one in the mirror, hoping one day, a man will be behind me, using his hands on my body instead of my own. I graze my clit with the tip of my finger, and my hand working my breast moves to the vanity counter for purchase. I’m on a hairpin trigger, and I’ve barely started.
“Jesus, Carsynn,” I rasp out loud. The humidity from the hot running water starts to steam up the mirror. My breathing becomes more labored as I slide two fingers inside my wet heat before going back to my clit. I’m careful to never push too deeply. I may be a virgin, but I don’t want to be the one to take that from myself. One day, I’ll have the courage enough to put myself out there, and it’ll be a man who takes me with his cock and not my fingers. I lose my grip on the counter. Thankfully, my forearm holds me up as my head meets the same demise. Trying to hold myself up was futile. My fingers work my clit, clockwise and counterclockwise, as I think of the handsome duke in my book using his mouth on his wife, how she comes all over his face, and how he continues to tongue-fuck her the entire time through her orgasm. I want that, God, do I want to know what that sheer uninhibited bliss feels like, and not by my own hands. I clench my eyes closed. Stars burst behind my lids, and my orgasm takes over. A cold chill coats my body, which makes my fuzzy mind snap back to reality. The bathroom is hot, and the tub is nearly full. I quickly turn the faucet off, make sure my fluffy robe is within reaching distance as well as my book, and then I sink into the hot-as-fuck water. All while wondering what else my latest book boyfriend is capable of doing to his no-longer virgin wife.
4
GABE
Istep out of the tow truck I parked in my grandfather’s driveway. Why he insists on living on his own is beyond me, but the man is unwavering in his independence. It would have been nice if he’d have taken me up on living closer to me, except Grandpa Bernie never wants to be a burden on anyone. Once, I’d like him to realize I want to be there for him like he’s been there for me my whole damn life.
“About time you get your tail home, boyo.” The stretch I was after comes to a screeching halt when Bernie opens the screen door and I’m greeted by the old man who always gives me shit. I should have known he wouldn’t keep himself inside where it’s warm. Oh no, he chose to stand in the open door, letting all the warm air out of the house. The man doesn’t have so much as a pair of shoes on his feet.
“Get inside and shut the door,” I throw back at him, neither of us bothering with pleasantries. It’s how we communicate our love for one another. I shut the door to my tow truck, pocket my keys, and make my way up the driveway.
“Oh hush, you act like I’m going to wither away from a little cold weather,” he retorts, doing the exact opposite of what I’d like him to do. There’s no changing his mind. No amount of lecturing will change his mind, and so I double-step it, my long strides eating up the distance between us. I worry about him. He’s not getting any younger, and he’s all I’ve got left in this world besides a few friends and the nosey townspeople. Grandpa Bernie is spry and sharp as a tack. He still cooks, cleans, and drives around town. There’s nothing wrong with him for the most part. He’s on cholesterol medicine and could probably control more of it if he weren’t at The Sunshine Diner five days a week. They do watch his heart since it likes to be a slow ticker at times. Ten or so years ago, he needed a pacemaker. We didn’t see it coming. One minute he’s talking, the next he was slumping over. A short stay at the hospital, and he was good to go.
“I hear pneumonia isn’t any fun, unless you like to flirt with the nurses in the hospital.” I wink. Grandpa may be old, but he’s not dead, and he’s a shameless flirt. The last time he was at the doctor for routine testing, he tried to get a nurse's number. She batted her eyes and let him down easy. Apparently, the ring on her finger wasn’t a deterrent. Smooth-talking Bernie was out in full effect.
“It’d be a vacation to be surrounded by so much beauty. Speaking of, get your butt inside. We’ve got some talking to do.” Here we go again. He’s been angling to talk to me about something or other. Usually, his last will and testament, whether he wants to be resuscitated or not, what to do with his house and belongings. Last but not least and for what seems like the eighteenth time a day, he’ll want to chat about Carsynn. Damn it all to hell, I’ve heard enough and done enough. Now I’m going to get wrangled into another conversation when all I’d like to do is eat a real meal that’s not of the fast food or restaurant variety, see how Grandpa is doing, and then head the fuck home.
“Don’t I even get a hug before the lecture? It’s been weeks, old man,” I tell him after I take the two steps leading up to where he’s standing. Grandpa Bernie is in a thin white cotton shirt and plaid pajamas, not even socks on his feet as he stands on the concrete porch.