Touch Me Once Read Online Free PDF Page A

than enough for a little morning fun.
    I stroked my clit back with my fingers until I could feel my orgas m building. I pictured the way Alex moved his tongue over me and increased the rubbing to match my memory. I could almost see his face perched between my thighs, those beautiful blue eyes almost begging me to climax. I pinched my nipple and watched my hand dance faster in my panties until I came with a small moan as I thought about Alex plunging his finger inside me.
    Well, that’s a great way to start the day. I climbed out of bed, got in the shower, and wondered when he would call. I hadn’t given him my number, but I had written it on the application—the same application I saw him slip into his pocket when we got up from the booth.
    While I was drying my hair , I realized that the entire time I was with Alex, I hadn’t once thought about my problem. It was the first time that had happened since I’d been. It was a nice feeling.
    I checked my phone to make sure it was charged and to see if I had any messages. My heart jumped a little when I saw I had one message; I couldn’t help but hope it was Alex. Then I saw my attorney’s number pop up, and the thrill was gone. I just felt too good to listen to his message so I saved it and finished getting dressed.
    It was time to go see my parents. This was a pretty simple, thing since I was living in a small guest house in their backyard. When my trouble started and I couldn’t afford to live on my own any more, my parents, who I adore, took me back in and agreed to let me live there rent-free until things could be resolved.
    It’s a small one-story cottage, but it has everything I need. A nice galley kitchen with gas heat for all of the cooking I don’t do, a living area that’s open with large windows on three sides and a really comfortable sofa that faces the flat-screen TV and a tiny stereo. When they found out I was coming back home, my parents put in cable and Internet, and I bought a wireless router so I can use my laptop. The bedroom is filled mainly with a very soft queen-size bed. I wish there was more closet space, but beggars can’t be choosers. There’s a full bathroom with a shower and tub and lots of counter space next to the sink. Most of that counter space was filled with lotions, creams, and gels that my mother had given to me over time. I’m not sure what a lot of it does, but it looks expensive, so I thank her and never open it.
    I walk ed out into my parents’ backyard and down the paving stone path that leads to their back door. The yard is well, let’s call it bountiful with plant life. My father is a retired doctor. He was a family practitioner with a very successful practice. He still does some consulting, but after he sold his practice, the majority of his waking hours had been spent filling the yard with vegetation—and fill it he has. Monkey grass lines the well-tended St. Augustine lawn, and there are several tall pine trees. A magnificent live oak fills the middle of the yard, and next to that is a nice magnolia tree. He’s planted azaleas, camellias and beautiful hydrangeas with fat, puffy, multicolored blooms.
    His pride and joy, however, are the roses. They consume him. He reads books about them, goes in chat rooms to discuss them, and constantly posts updates about how well his babies are doing. As far as obsessions go, I guess this one is relatively sane. At any rate, it’s all very lovely to look at and it keeps him out of Mom’s hair.
    I opened the backdoor and saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table eating toast, drinking tea , and reading The Post & Courier, the local newspaper.
    “Hi, Mom. How are you this morning?” I said as I made my way to a plate of toast.
    “Good morning, h oney,” she answered without looking up from the paper. “There’s toast and coffee. I can scramble some eggs for you if you like.”
    “Thanks , Mom, this is fine,” I told her as I pulled a chair out and sat down. “Where’s