Corinne was already pressed to her brother’s back.
The three of them stood, frozen in the open doorway to the kitchen, watching their dad holding Greta.
No, watching Greta hold their dad.
“Let’s give them time,” Corinne whispered.
As one, they all slunk backwards on silent feet.
Mamie leaned against Shaw as Corinne adjusted the place settings so they were all just so and they waited patiently until their dad walked in with his gun belt gone, an open beer in his hand and an oven glove on the other hand that was holding the big, cast-iron skillet Greta had brought over to cook in.
“Get drinks, kids. Let’s get this grub in our stomachs,” he ordered.
They moved out as Greta moved in, carrying a big wooden bowl (that she’d also brought over) of salad.
“Corinne, can you grab the salad dressings from the fridge? And Shaw, can you get the cornbread out of the oven? Just put it on the hot pad by the stove. I’ll come in and deal with it.”
“You got it,” Shaw muttered.
“No problem,” Corinne said.
“I’ll get drinks, what does everyone want?” Mamie asked as she entered the kitchen.
Shaw and Corinne did as Greta asked and Mamie got the drinks.
They sat down at the family table.
They all watched closely as their father tried to make it normal while they ate Greta’s amazing food, but they did what they could to take their dad’s mind off things, talking about school, telling stories, anything.
It never got normal.
But they gave it their best shot.
And their dad, being the kind of dad he was, didn’t bother to hide he appreciated it.
Hixon
The call came when they were all cleaning up.
He saw who it was on the screen and muttered he had to take it as he walked out of the room, through the living room, out to the front porch, doing it sliding his thumb on the screen, taking the call, putting the phone to his ear.
His storm door closed behind him as he answered, “Hey, Hope.”
“Hey, Hixon,” she replied gently.
“You okay?” he asked.
“That was my question, honey.”
He looked to his boots.
There was the woman he’d married.
“It’s good it’s over, yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Greta and the kids taking care of you?”
He looked to the street, the snow covering his lawn, his walk and driveway clear.
“They are, Hope. Thanks.”
“How’d the wife take it?” she inquired.
“Confusion. The guy is . . . off. But there was also some relief. Blatt’s semi-related to her. I called him, he was there when Larry and I visited. He took over when we left. He can be an arrogant ass but I think he’s got this.”
“That’s good,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Okay, I didn’t want to take up too much of your time or anything. I just . . . heard and I’ve been thinking of you.”
“That’s appreciated, honey.”
She was silent for a few beats before she rushed out, “Okay. You probably need a bourbon about now so I’ll let you go. Just . . . take care of yourself, yeah, Hix?”
“I will. You too.”
“I will. Tell everyone I said hey.”
“I’ll do that.”
“’Night, Hix.”
“’Night.”
She hung up.
He dropped his hand with the phone in it and stared at the street.
When he noticed his breath come out in a visible puff, he cleared his throat, shoved his phone in his back pocket and went inside.
He was up, his knees were up, but Greta was straddling him, riding him, her fingers in his hair, her lips attached to his so the noises she made were muted since they sounded down his throat.
Her rhythm was gentle, but he could tell she was working to keep it that way, so he put his hands to her waist, lifted his hips and took her to her back before he threaded the fingers of one hand through hers and he stopped going gentle.
“You’re . . . too good at this,” she breathed against his lips.
He could not believe it in that moment for a variety of reasons but what she said made him smile.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s . . . hard to . . . stay quiet,” she pushed out.
He slanted his head and took her mouth to help with that even as he ran a hand down her chest, snagging her nipple hard with his thumb, forcing a gasp into his mouth, thus making it harder.
She lifted her knees high at his sides and he went deeper, which felt so fucking good it made him go faster.
He slid his lips to her ear.
“You love me?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she panted.
“You know I love you?”
She tilted her hips up and held his hand laced in hers so tight, he felt pain at the webbing.
“Yes,” she repeated breathlessly.
He lifted his head and looked down at her indistinct face, the shadows of her sunshine and honey hair somehow bright even in the dark. “Good, baby, because I love you a lot.”
“You can’t . . .” she tipped her knees back farther, he slid in deeper, and she lifted her head to put her mouth to his when that caused a low groan to rumble out of him, “imagine how awesome . . . that is, baby. But can we have this conversation when I’m not . . . about . . . to . . . ?”
She didn’t finish.
Her neck arched, her mouth opened, and her pussy seized his pulsing cock as she climaxed under him.
He watched. He enjoyed it. Then he kissed her so when his world exploded, the grunt it forced from him was quietened by her mouth.
Hix came down slow, made sure she came down slow, and kept his fingers wound through hers long after, kissing her, working her neck, feeling her work his, her free hand moving on him, his doing the same.
Finally, he found her ear with his lips and whispered, “At last.”
Again, her fingers convulsed in his hand before she repeated, “At last, Hixon.”
He kissed her throat, pulled out and rolled them both out of bed.
He got rid of the condom, cleaned up, pulled on some pajama bottoms. She pulled on panties and her nightie.
They slid into bed together and she curled into his side.
“Love you, Greta,” he murmured to the ceiling.
He felt her kiss his chest before she settled back in. “Love you too, Hix.”
She burrowed deeper into him and after some time, he felt her weight fall into him with sleep.
Hix closed his eyes and saw hollow.
But he felt Greta.
So eventually, he followed her.
Seventh Circle
Hixon
“COME AROUND,” HIX rumbled.
“Mm,” Greta mumbled to his back before she took a nip of the flesh at his lat.
His hips pulsed into her hand.
“Come around,” he growled.
She slid her lips up to the side of his neck, pressing her tits in his back, and bossed, “Keep your hands to the headboard, Hixon.”
“Greta,” he warned, fucking her fist that she kept wrapped tight around his cock, her other hand cupping and squeezing his balls, the whole of her pressed to his back, her lips on his neck—it was too hot, he couldn’t take more.
“This feel illegal?” she asked.
No.
It felt phenomenal.
Fuck it.