[Southern Arcana 3.0] Deadlock by Moira Rogers

you.”
    Instinct or not, his dick hardened at the words, and he slid his hand up to curl in her hair, fisting his fingers in the disheveled strands just hard enough to let her feel it. “You telling me this isn’t the magic? That a sweet little empath like you wants to get rough before she gets down and dirty?”
    Her back arched. The movement rubbed her ass against him—and pulled her hair even more. Carmen hissed in a breath. “Is that what’s tripping you up? Wolves aren’t the only ones who like it hard.”
    Sweet Jesus.
    Alec steeled his voice, made it a command wreathed in a growl. “You can fuck us both into next month with whips and chains, if that gets you hot. After I know you’re the only one driving.”
    She growled right back. “Then why are you still on me?”
    Because he couldn’t stop himself. Alec swore and released her abruptly, reeling back until he bumped into the counter behind him. “Better?”
    “No.” The bacon had started to smoke. She moved the skillet off the eye and turned to him, her jaw set in anger. “If you don’t want me getting turned on or thinking about sex, don’t put your arms around me and talk about magic and rough, dirty fucking.”
    Alec closed his eyes. “Wasn’t planning on it. Things sure do seem to spiral into depravity when we start talking.”
    “Then maybe I shouldn’t be here.”
    Maybe she shouldn’t. Except she could sprout fur in the next moment and tear up a crowded New Orleans street. “Franklin could keep an eye on you. Or your brother. Or I’ll sit over here and talk about the weather while you make eggs.”
    After a moment, she retrieved an egg and cracked it into a bowl. “If you value your virtue,” she warned, but a little of the sparkle had returned to her eyes.
    That’s it. Nice and easy. “Awful warm for April, lately.”
    “You don’t actually have to limit yourself to discussions of seasonal temperatures, Alec.”
    He cast about for another safe topic. “Do you like working with Franklin?”
    “Very much.” She lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I believe in what he’s doing. People should always have a safe place.”
    “I agree. I keep hoping that’s what we can make New Orleans, but so far no one has the power to keep all the potential threats at bay.”
    Carmen tilted her head and studied him. “Franklin said the Southeast council doesn’t have much to do with things here.”
    Interesting that her information came from Franklin even though her uncle was on the damn council. “Not usually, but that doesn’t mean they’re not quick enough to step in if they feel like it.”
    “And you resent that.” It wasn’t a question, and he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable with how easily she’d fallen into reading him. Not that he wasn’t used to it—Kat usually didn’t even realize she was picking up stray emotions and asking too-pointed questions—but it was different when those questions came from a wide-eyed kid.
    There was nothing wide-eyed or kid-like about the woman standing in his kitchen, and her understanding tread dangerously close to intimacy. It made it hard to keep his voice level, caught as he was between the urge to claim and the urge to run like hell. “I guess.”
    “I don’t blame you.” She fell silent, focusing on the task at hand.
    The urge to screw was nothing new. He liked sex and didn’t see any need to go without when plenty of women were willing to take him home. Casual fucking with no messy complications and no one to be left at home, cranky that he was too damn busy to give a woman the attention she deserved.
    No one to make breakfast out of the dismal wasteland of his abandoned fridge.
    “There we go. Just like…that,” Carmen murmured as she prodded the eggs. She lifted them as she tilted the pan, and a triumphant smile curved her lips. “This is going to be the perfect omelet.”
    It had been a depressingly long time since he’d had a home-cooked breakfast, perfect or not.