The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood, #2)

by Nikki Sloane

He’d been using one hand this whole time, and maybe it’d gotten tired or strained, because he ringed himself at the base, and his other hand came off the stair step to take over. Wait, no. He cupped his hand, then tipped his head forward, and I watched as a bead of saliva trailed from his lips down into his palm. “Yes,” I encouraged. “Get it wet.”

“Do you want to stop?” There was no hesitation this time. “No.” She kind of laughed. “You’ve got a big dick. Give a girl a second to get used to it.”

Maybe you could only reach a certain level of happiness for yourself, but . . . happiness for someone else? That was limitless. That was joy.