When they were together, not even their fingers could touch.

Fingers touched my face, moving me to look at him.

Fingers touched her down low, where she most wanted him.

It seemed a long time before her fingers touched his.

As his fingers touched them, he knew there was something wrong.

I felt his fingers touch the back of my neck.

They had no need of movement because their fingers touched.

Her fingers touched his skin, the first time in years.

At the very bottom, her fingers touched what felt like a photograph.

A light finger touched my back, then the hard end of a gun.