One Direction One Shots 2

Vodka Eyes (Niall)

The cool air of the hotel room rushed out to form goosebumps on your bare legs, exposed from your tiny, tight black dress. Your skin was already growing sticky with sweat, and the sudden breeze made you stumble into the room as he followed behind you. Looking around, you knew the penthouse was as good as he had told you: large and modern, secluded too, besides a large window adjacent to the bed in the master bedroom. The website had shown a beautiful photograph of the way the sun looked in the morning, streaming beams into the mattress. “This is how we get to live. I love sharing this shit with you.” he had laughed heartily, kissing your finger that had touched the virtual room on the screen. 

You sighed, then felt his hand squeeze your ass. Shit. You had already forgotten that this wouldn’t be a night of relaxation. You slowly turned on your aching heels to face him, nervous and suddenly feeling hot again.

His face was solemn, beginning to loosen his tie as he locked his midnight blue eyes with yours. You couldn’t keep eye contact, rocking nervously in your pumps and shifting your gaze towards the now closing elevator. Your arms wrapped themselves around your own torso, a subconscious protective mechanism you’d had developed when he got like this. Noticing your lack of attention, he left his tie on and spoke to you.

“Hey.” he raised his eyebrows and you inhaled sharply, daring to again meet his eyes.

“Niall…” your eyes fell away again, to the floor. But you could feel his stare burning holes in your head, and was forced to look up.

“Just go sit on the bed.” he said solidly, his voice like a gavel banging in a courtroom. You quickly made your way there, but not before you heard his phone buzz in his pocket.

“Ah, fuck off Darragh! Bloody- no, no! I’ll see you, alright mate?” he laughed but sounded annoyed. You sat on the giant bed, awaiting your fate. You were scared as fuck. The window showed the gorgeous Los Angeles night, deep and alive although it was near reaching one in the morning. You wondered about the other boys, if they had stayed at the party or gone to a club or had went home with somebody, or what. You were just praying they weren’t back until morning, because Niall respected the fact that they shared the hotel penthouse with you for the month. He just wouldn’t care enough to stop what he was doing even if they showed up. You shuddered, rising to close the curtains. However, your train of thought was cut short, you felt like you were being watched. Too afraid to turn around, you continued pulling the strings, until the curtains were fully closed. You slowly turned around to see Niall in the doorway, glaring at you.

“I thought I asked you to sit on the bed?” he narrowed his eyes at you, stepping closer and closer until his face was inches away from yours. Vodka breath and vodka eyes, bedroom business demeanor. You were certain of what you were in for now, and there was no possible escape.

“You did, Ni, I-“

“Do you ever listen?” he growled through his gritted teeth, running his fingers through his brown roots in disbelief. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tries to calm himself down, although it never worked. He dug into his pocket while sitting himself down on the mattress, pulling out a new box of cigarettes and a lighter. Your head was rushing. You knew he rarely smoked, unless he was extremely angry. And between alcohol and anger, sometimes pain overtook pleasure when you were in Niall’s hands. You’d been in a similar position before, a couple of times where he completely lost it. But something was telling you this was going to be a lot worse.

He beckoned to you, and you stood there, shell shocked. “Stupid bitch,” he rolled his eyes. “Actually, take the dress off, leave the shoes on, then c’mere yeah?” he altered his instructions, sighing as he tapped the cigarette box in an impatient rhythm. Fearful, you threw the dress off of you in seconds, leaving you exposed in the skimpy fabric of a black lace bra and a hot pink thong he had bought you awhile ago. Slowly moving towards him, head down in patent black pumps, he pulled you into his lap, straddling him. He stroked your hair tenderly, kissing your right earlobe and playing with it with the tip of his tongue. He looked at you, and you undid his tie for him and threw it onto the pillows, and then you undid his button down shirt, exposing his toned chest to you. You reached down between your bodies, plucking a cigarette and raising the flame to it, lighting it for him. He took a long drag, blowing a bit of smoke to your neck and then the left of the room. You smiled to yourself. You knew how to kiss ass, didn’t you? He took a few more hits, until he held it between his teeth and peered into your cleavage. You were careful not to react. He looked up at your pupils, dilated. Holding the cigarette between his fingers, he kissed your chin to your collarbones, and a giggle escaped your throat. He began to leave love bites along your collarbones, harder and less pleasurable each time, sloppy pinches on your neck, making you jerk backwards and causing his grip to turn to brick. He used his other hand to take your wrist, and you stared wide eyed as you realized you weren’t off the hook. He raised it to his lips, softly kissing the area where your hand met your arm.