Of all places, she never thought she would be here, sitting on the green grass of an historical park, with a tongue dancing against her own, a mouth that swallowed her sounds and mutters and groans.
She tilted her head back, broke the kiss and panted for air. Green mocking eyes met hers and the asshole grinned.
“I hate you”
He laughed, plopping on his side and looking at the stage where a family was playing delicious folk music. She looked at them, following his eyes and smiled.
Classic, gorgeous song that still spoke to her.
“When are you leaving?”
He smiled and there was something sincere behind the mocking expression of his eyes. One of his fingers trailed the line of her jaw and she closed her eyes.
Free as the wind and the waves that wash the sand
He knew her. Understood her. There was something strong, powerful in him that she adored.
“When?” His voice was a whisper breathed against her neck.
She swallowed painfully, her fingers plucked some strands of grass. She didn’t dare open her eyes because his would be brilliant and mocking and hurting and she didn’t want that.
She couldn’t stand that.
After all, he was the one to give her that last drink during George St. Festival, to gently unlace her shoes and help her stand in the freezing cold bucket of ocean water. The salt of the harbour clung to him – he had gone there himself.
She remembered his carefree laughter as the bar erupted in that damned song.
I’m a Newfoundlander born and bred and here’s the reason why
She felt his lips against hers, like they had pressed harshly against hers when they had first kissed, in that damned bar. She swallowed. His lips were a whisper, a ghost, trailing on her mouth, her cheek, her neck, kissing her there and she gasped, her fingers clenching his hand.
He didn’t pull away.
I’m free as the wind and the waves that wash the sand.
There’s no place I would rather be than here in Newfoundland.
He sighed, one of his hands going to her back, helping her to sit.
The crowd was chanting, standing, dancing around them.
They’ll regret the day they tried to take our Newfoundland.
She smiled softly against his chest.
“Will you have time to kiss the cod one last time?”
“Is this some secret code for sex?” She replied too fast and his eyes were stormy green this time and she preferred that to brooding.
She wasn’t supposed to get stupidly attached to an Irish man from Newfoundland.
“Do you want it to be, leprechaun?”
She laughed at the insult and kissed him fast, teeth and lips and mouth colliding.
“Catch me if you can, Newfoundlander”
And he did.