Too Hard: Hayes Brothers Book 5
Too Hard: Chapter 20

SOMETIMES I WORRY my head isn’t working the way it should.

Setting aside the fact I stayed up on Friday until I heard Blair come back so I could deduce where she went by her outfit, I’ve been thinking about Ana daily.

By the way, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Blair was with her friends based on her blue sequin dress.

But Ana… I worry about her. Up until her brother’s suicide, she was the most laid-back, carefree girl I ever came across. Always laughing, never taking things seriously. Not even sex, which was refreshing, if I’m honest. No pressure.

I should be happy she’s done stalking me, done hanging outside the building, but when she was here, I knew she was okay.

Well, not okay, but not doing anything reckless.

Now I’m left wondering.

It’s been almost a month since she was last in touch. Anything could’ve happened, but I can’t text her without fueling her obsession.

A knock on my door halts my internal tug-of-war. Setting the knife aside, I cross the condo. Blair’s there, looking unsure of herself, both hands behind her back, nose scrunched.

And she’s wet. Hair, clothes, face… soaked.

“Is it raining?” I ask.

“In my bathroom,” she confirms. “I slipped while cleaning… grabbed the pipe to steady myself, but something cracked, and now it’s sputtering water everywhere. I can’t turn it off. I know this crosses a line, but it’s Sunday—”

I chuckle, halting her rant. “How about you say Cody, could you please fix my shower instead of rambling on? We’re neighbors, B. Neighbors help and your neighbor happens to be very good with his hands.”

A cute blush creeps up her cheeks. “As he proved many, many times.” She winks, the blush dissolving into a smile. “Could you please fix my shower before it floods the petty woman downstairs?”

“I can.” I invite her in, then retrieve my toolbox from the coat closet. “And Karen’s not only petty, B, she’s old, miserable, and bored.”

“Her name isn’t Karen, but it sure fits. You know she keeps leaving fake parking tickets on my windscreen whenever I’m not parked perfectly inside the lines?”

“All she leaves me is her phone number,” I joke, earning myself a whack on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s not my fault you park like you need extra-strong glasses. While I fix your shower, can you finish the lasagna? Mix the spinach with the meat, layer it all, then shove it in the oven.”

She spins on the balls of her bare feet. “You can cook?”

“I can cook, clean, fix showers, and locate the G spot.”

“Aren’t you a package deal?” She struts toward the kitchen, leaving a wet trail behind.

“Lose your clothes, B. Slip into one of my hoodies.” I motion at her wet jeans. “Or just strip. Your call.”

The last thing I see before I lock her in my condo is two wrinkles lining her forehead. Yeah… I shouldn’t have offered my clothes. I shouldn’t have joked, either, but whatever.

Arriving at the scene in Blair’s bathroom, it’s not half as bad as I imagined. The water’ s spritzing, and the pipe is loose, but it’s not a full-blown geyser. Most of the water falls back into the basin, so there’s minimal risk of flooding Karen.

Too bad. She’d have something to do.

Thankfully, the pipe isn’t bent, just snapped out of place. Despite it only being a five-minute job tightening the valves, my t-shirt’s soaked when I head back across the hall.

“My brother should be shot on the spot for putting that shower cubicle in a modern bathroom. You need an anti-slip mat.”

Blair looks up from where she’s layering the lasagna and takes me in with a cheeky smile. “Had a little accident, did you?”

I follow her line of sight, replaceing a wet patch on my groin. “Yeah, fixing showers turns me on.”

“I was implying something else, but coming in your pants works better. I guess you had more say in the design than I did. I like your walk-in shower.”

“It fits us both. I doubt yours would.”

“Should I say thank you with words or gestures?” She rounds the island, purposely bending down as she pops the lasagna in the oven, her sweet ass peeking from under the hem of one of my white t-shirts. I groan at how good she looks in white, a stark contrast to her tanned skin and brown hair.

“You forgot the cheese.”

“No, I didn’t. I add it closer to the end so it melts but doesn’t burn. Unless you prefer it burned.”

“Leave it. I don’t need a thank you, B, but I won’t stop you saying it with gestures.” I step back to lock the door and yank my t-shirt over my head. “We have forty minutes before the food’s ready.”

“Thirty,” she counters, crossing the room and jumping into my arms, her bare, warm, wet pussy pressing into my stomach. “You’re forgetting I need to sprinkle the cheese on top.”

“Shameless,” I tut, supporting her with one arm, her legs tightly wrapped around my waist. I push the other hand between us, strumming her clit. “No panties.”

She moans, biting my earlobe as I carry her into my bedroom. “They were wet.”

“I bet they were.” Dropping her on the bed, I strip out of my clothes and fall forward, my face conveniently landing between her legs. “Lay back and open wide, baby.”

Before she obeys, I’m on her, coating my tongue in the first taste of her arousal.

“D-Don’t,” she gasps, arching her hips, both hands weaving into my hair when I blow on her clit. “Don’t call me that.”

I lick her, push my tongue in then out, and in and out until she claws my scalp, her thighs holding me hostage. “Don’t call you what, baby?”

I suck her clit and the slap she lands on my head isn’t half as hard as she intended, I’m sure. “You’re breaking the rules, Cody.”

Prying her legs open, I crawl higher, locking her between my arms as I dive for a kiss.

I want her lips.

The silent, no-kisses fucks were fun at first but the longer we do this, the more uncomfortable I am when I work myself into her as if she were a sex doll.

Fuck the rules. She either uses her lips to speak or to kiss me.

I miss the mark when she turns her head, my lips landing on her ear. I bite and suck the lobe hard enough that she’ll know it’s not what I wanted, then yank her t-shirt over her boobs, coming down on them like I’m starving.

“Oh shit, that feels so nice.” She grabs my ass, spurring me on, demanding more, faster, harder. “I need you deeper. Please.”

“As you wish.” I flip her over, cross her ankles, and shove a pillow under her hips. “As deep as I can get,” I say, forcing my cock between her thighs. “Tell me what you did all day.” With one long measured stroke, I’m in. Fuck… I need a second to catch my breath because this is the absolute perfect position.

“No, no, no,” she chants quietly when I pull out and slam back in deeper than ever.

I halt, my heart pounding like a train on the tracks. “What is it, B? Does it hurt? You want to stop?”

“No! God, no. Don’t stop,” she mewls, grasping handfuls of the sheets when I repeat the maneuver. “It’s… it’s amazing, I promise. I meant… I meant…” Another moan rips from her chest. She arches her spine so hard I think it might snap. “God, that’s so good.”

“I know.” I grasp her hair, pulling back until she’s perfectly positioned for a Spiderman kiss.

But as soon as I move in, she jerks away, driving me fucking feral. In slow, methodic moves, I sink into her, taking my annoyance out on the delicate skin in the crook of her neck, kissing and nipping the same way I want to kiss her lips.

“Keep talking,” I encourage, leaning back on my calves. “What did you mean?”

“That I won’t tell you about my day.”

“Fine.” I pump faster when her walls pulse around my length. “I had breakfast with Conor and Vee.” My thigh muscles scream the faster I drive into Blair, watching my cock disappear in her pussy, fitting so well. “She made waffles with maple syrup…”

“Shut up,” Blair pants, the orgasm hitting her so hard her legs shake, and her back arches off the bed. “One more,” she pleads. “Please, I need another one.”

“When have I ever left you with one orgasm?” I chuckle, breaking another rule to kiss a line up her spine before changing position so she can take what she needs.

She scrambles to straddle me, and fuck… she’s sexier when she takes me in my t-shirt than she is when naked.

How’s that possible?

Naked flesh should win over t-shirts, but the mess of Blair’s hair framing her flushed face, how the soft fabric grips her small boobs, how it bunches around her thighs, giving me glimpses of my cock sliding in and out of her… it’s close to fucking perfection.

“They’re sickening,” I continue my story, recalling Vee and Conor serving breakfast, those lingering looks, smiles, how great they fit… “Conor’s whipped and Vee—”

“All your brothers are whipped,” Blair utters, knotting her fingers on my nape. “Why are you telling me this?! You’re breaking the… oh.” Her eyes roll back into her head when she replaces the right angle. One that lets her grind her clit over my abdomen as she cants her hips, getting us off. “You’re breaking the rules.”

I am, but I don’t care. Either we morph these sex sessions into something less clinical, or I’m out because she’s reduced it to jacking off. Fun, but not half as satisfying. The longer we do this, the more detached she is.

“Vee’s as whipped as he is.” I grip Blair’s jaw, spreading my fingers under her chin from one ear to the other as I lean in…

She throws her head back, and I miss again.

Jesus fuck!

“She wants a cat…” I ramble on, kissing, nipping, and sucking the soft, warm skin. Her tight pussy grips my cock harder with every move, another orgasm nearby, “…but Conor wants her pregnant—”

“What are you doing, Cody?” Blair snaps, freezing in place to glare at me. “Why are you talking? Stop talking!”

I wrap an arm around her back, weaving my fingers into her silky hair and exercising subtle control as I bring her closer, our kiss a breath away. “Make me.”

Her eyes flicker to my lips. A wild storm of emotions—anger, irritation, confusion, and relief—crosses her pretty face.

And finally, something shifts. With a swift exhalation of air, she surrenders, bridging the distance between us, her soft mouth meeting mine.

I take over immediately. The dam holding intimacy at bay bursts, and we lose it the same way we lost it when I caught her playing with the purple wand.

Every stroke of my tongue is returned with a hunger deep within her. It’s as if she wanted to break this rule since she set it in place, craving the taste of rebellion.

I bite her lower lip, tugging gently, igniting a very different kind of fire than the primal lust burning within us.

Shit… maybe her rules had a point. She’s addictive, and this is definitely the wrong side of the line. Intoxicating tension electrifies the air, inflating my chest, and yep… definitely the wrong side of the line.

But the wrong side feels so fucking right.

And when we’re done and sitting at the breakfast bar in my kitchen, devouring the lasagna, talking about Conor’s fixation with babies, Logan’s bachelor party, and Karen’s pettiness… that feels right, too.