It was the way it went with them, moving away from each other and coming back together again. While his wife was gone, Hermes certainly missed her but he never begrudged her the time she spent alone. It was her independence and refusal to be pinned down that drove him wild. He obviously had his sometimes-wife, Hecate, whom he loved fiercely as well. Hermes had his random fucks and his occasional flings, and every so often he would find someone to be with for a little while longer, as he had with Erica's mother.
The woman who was currently on her knees, his manhood deep in her throat, had been his girlfriend for nearly nine months. Her name was Sydney and she was a model or an actress or whatever she felt was an achievable enough dream at the time. Mostly she tended bar, fucked Hermes, and went on endless auditions without getting callbacks.
The moment Hermes heard his wife's voice, he was pushing Sydney away from him. "Augh, stop that," he said, his hands on her shoulders. "That's my wife's voice."
"Your wife!?" Sydney said, standing suddenly, her eyes wide with shock. Hermes wasn't even paying attention to her anymore, however. He had buttoned his jeans and was making a beeline in the direction of Peitho's voice.
"You're back!" he said happily, the moment he laid eyes on her. He didn't even notice there was someone else in the room, Peitho was everything. "You're breathtaking."
"What the fuck, Heath?" Sydney stormed after him.
"You can go now, my wife's back," Hermes said, not even bothering to offer her a glance. His eyes were locked with Peitho's.
"But-"
"I said fuck off," but his voice only illustrated disinterest, and not anger.