Logan (Filthy Rich Alphas)

What if they stayed together forever? What if they married and had kids? Would I stop lusting after her? Would I finally be able to push her out of my head to the point where I was no longer stroking my cock to the mental image of Mia—naked and bouncing on top of me?

“You’re looking pissed over there, man.” Tyson reached into the cooler. “Here’s a beer. I’m just fucking with you.”

“So, you’re not thinking of marriage?” I asked.

“Shit. I don’t know. Mia would be a decent wife. She hasn’t let me fuck yet, but I bet she knows what she’s doing. Those fucking tits, man. And that ass. Shit. I would marry her.”

I had twisted off the top of my beer and stared at Mia as she splashed water on Ashley. Those breasts were wet and jiggling, so big they would spill out of my hands. And that ass could feed my libido for days. But it wasn’t her body that had me twisted. Mia made me crazy from her conversation, always making me laugh, always putting me onto some fun movie or show that was entertaining yet changed the way I saw life.

Mia was more than those beautiful big breasts and that lovely fat ass.

Yet, Tyson continued, “Maybe, we could marry. Mia just has to get out of that back to Africa shit she does sometimes. Like the braids she has on today. They’re okay, but it makes her look ghetto, and she’s not even from the hood. I like her when she has her hair together and looks more—”

I waved his stupid comments away. “She looks gorgeous. I like the braids.”

“What the fuck would you know?”

“I know what I like.”

“Whatever, man. Those braids make her look ghetto as fuck.” Tyson chuckled, finished his beer, crushed the can, and slung it in the wastebasket next to him. “She’s three plaits away from looking like one of those African chicks in a hut with mud on them.”

I frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“She looks like some hood bitch that’s only good enough to be fucked but not—”

I hit him. I hadn’t planned on it. My fist just rose fast in the air and met his face.

He fell to the ground and held his jaw. “Eh!”

“Fuck.” I stared at my hands. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Lay off the fucking beer, man, and calm the fuck down.”

“Well.” I put my hands down. “Have some respect for Mia.”

“Mia is not your fucking sister, man.” He rose from the ground and stormed off.

That was the last time we’d really talked. The girls had gotten back on the boat due to the commotion. Clearly, we didn’t tell them about it, and being that we were on the water miles away from shore, Tyson and I couldn’t escape each other.

Still, we kept our distance.

I’d been a bit annoyed the rest of the night as Tyson rubbed his hands through Mia’s braids and whispered how beautiful she looked. I was damn near close to hitting him again, but I had to stay out of it.

And now Mia is telling me months later that he’s cheating? I’m going to beat the shit out of him.

I shoved the memory of July fourth out of my head and returned to driving Mia and me to the bookstore. Minutes later, we arrived, and I pulled into the shopping center’s large parking garage.

Mia continued to sip her coffee but hadn’t touch her bagel. She’d placed it in her handbag.

I parked the car and turned to her. Every time I was around her my body—my mind—was extremely aware of this gorgeous woman. Her delightful scent. The sweet sound of her soft breathing. The satin feel of her skin.

Before saying anything, I studied Mia as she drank her coffee. She was my obsession. Her full lips curved around the cup. I knew I shouldn’t, but I studied the delicate line of her throat and its movement as she swallowed.

And there was this wild, carnal urge to kiss all that exposed chocolate skin.

I gripped the steering wheel harder. “Are you sure he’s cheating?”

She lowered her voice. “I think so, but even if he isn’t, I don’t want to be with him anymore. I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this. I know he’s your friend.”

“It’s fine. I told you that I’m your friend too and this conversation stays here.” I leaned my head to the side. “Has he done anything else to you? Hurt you in any other way?”

If he did, I’m going to break his neck.

“No.” Her dark hair framed her face with skin so perfect I had to force myself to not to reach out and caress it.

“Has he ever put his hands on you?”

“No. Nothing like that. He’s just gone a lot. Sometimes he says he’s with you. Sometimes he says he’s working, but either way, I never seem to believe him. I just don’t like how I feel with him.”