Needing His Touch (Men in Charge #6) Read Online Tory Baker

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Series: Men in Charge Series by Tory Baker

Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)

One look and I knew the new girl in town would be mine.

Carsynn was the last thing expected after coming home from being out of town for work. The whole time I’ve been gone, Gramps has talked about the pretty waitress non-stop. It’s not until I walk into the diner and see her with my own two eyes that I get it. She does too, judging by the way her cheeks flush when I catch her watching my every move.

When the cold weather turns suddenly, it’s me out on the iced over roads rescuing the woman who has me thinking of forever.

Now we’re snowed in, she’s wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed, and is giving me the sweetest gift possible, herself.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

“You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.” - Darcy


Needing His Touch Playlist

wait in the truck (feat. Lainey Wilson)- Hardy

Delta Dawn- Tanya Tucker

Wouldn’t Have to Miss You- Pecos & the Rooftops

23- Chayce Beckham

Can’t Tell You No- Muscadine Bloodline

Sleeping Alone- Flatland Cavalry

Wild as Her- Corey Kent

I Remember Everything (feat. Kacey Musgraves)- Zach Bryan

Wild Ones (feat. Jelly Roll)- Jessie Murph

I’ve Been Thinking- Brooke Lee

Wilder Days- Morgan Wade

Fade Away- Rob Baird

All I See Is You- Shane Smith & the Saints

Daylight- Watchhouse

To Be Loved By You- Parker McCollum

Beauty in the Struggle- Bryan Martin

Memory to Drown- Bryan Martin

Dancing in the Sky- Sam Barber

Oh My God- Adele




Today is the day. Today is the motherstinking day. It’s pathetic. No, I take that back. I am pathetic. A whole lot naïve, too. I should have known things weren’t ever going to get better. They haven’t thus far, and now here I am, at the age of twenty-five, feeling as if I’m double the age I truly am. My body hurts, my heart aches, and my soul yearns for an easier way of living. I should have taken the scholarship and run. What person doesn’t take the opportunity given for zero dollars? Oh yeah, that would be me, and the reason for that is currently yelling in my face.

“You’re a piece of shit, Carysnn. I should have aborted you when the clinic gave me a choice.” Dear old mom is at again, as usual when Dad leaves to go on a three-day bender. There once was a time when I’d look at her and see so much of myself that I was happy. Lucky even to have her genes. Now I’m thankful I don’t have an addiction, and I know what it can destroy all too well. My mom is a shadow of herself. Her skin is paper thin, her hair is brittle, and I swear her teeth are starting to decay. We no longer look anything alike. Well, maybe there’s one thing we have in common—the bags beneath our eyes. Mine are from working doubles, whereas hers are from drug abuse. Two very different scenarios, but one I’m getting myself out of. If I’m going to work my fingers to the bone, I’m at least going to come home at night to a peaceful and happy home.

My dad, on the other hand, well, we look nothing alike, not at all. We’ve never been close, and now that I’m older, it’s even worse. I’m still unsure of how he’s able to maintain his job in order to pay for his penchant of alcohol. Probably because even alcoholics can function enough to get their next fix. All I know is I’m the one who pays the rent, power, water, and groceries. When I started working at the legal age of sixteen, all I thought was yes, now I won’t go to bed hungry. I can take care of myself, save money to get out of this hellhole. The joke was on me. The money I worked for was taken away the second my mother got a whiff of cash. A never-ending saga in this house with four walls, a roof, and running water.

I remain silent. Mom is itching for a fight, ready to continue on her tirade, and I’ve learned that the less I say, the faster she’ll go away. Which is what she needs to do, soon. A lightbulb went off a few months ago, on one particular night when I came home after working a twelve-hour shift. Both of them were home, one womb donor and one sperm donor coming right up. They were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, Dad drunk on his beloved bottle of cheap rum, Mom much the same except she likes to take pills.

Everything became clear. The need to get out of here as fast as possible hit me. If I didn’t, I’d end up being exactly like them.

“Got nothing to say for yourself, do ya? Just standing there like the mute girl you are!” She sways on her feet, slurring her words and enunciating each in anger. I’m not exactly sure the reason why she’s always so angry and Dad's always the quiet one.

I shake my head. Mom can call me everything in the book. Tonight is the night. I’ve been scrimping and saving, working as much as possible without raising an alarm of where I am or what I’m doing. Talk about always being on edge, going so far as to barely sleep at night due to a whole different type of dread of what could possibly happen. It’s the fear of uncertainty, who they could let in through the apartment door if Mom owed money to a dealer, or what she was doing to make extra money on one of her particular bad benders. Tonight, though, tonight is the night. As soon as she’s passed out on the couch, I’m out of here. It’s time I put myself first.