Treacherous

Chapter Seventeen

Currently I'm curled into Niall's side, smothered in a thick blanket because Niall thought my hands were too cold. He's worried about me getting sick so he knocked up the heat and is now trying to warm me back up. The coldness in my hands has long since disappeared and beads of sweat or now starting to form on my forehead.

"Hey, Niall?" I ask sweetly.

"Hmm?" He turns his attention away from the television screen and kisses my forehead. "What's up, babe? Are you okay?" I hate that he automatically thinks something's wrong. I get where it's coming from, but still. I wish he wouldn't worry so much all the time.

"Everything's okay. I'm just really hot." My hands struggle to find a hole in the blanket, but Niall tucked me in pretty good. It's impossible to try and worm my way out of this thing. I've been trying for the past ten minutes.

"You are smoking, babe. I don't think that blanket has anything to do with it." Trying to hit him for his mindless jokes, I struggle with the stupid blanket, wriggling around in it until I waste all my energy on such a pointless task.

"Calm down, Princess. Niall will save you from that nasty blanket monster." He chuckles before pulling the blanket right off of me with little to no effort.

"But you were the one who put me in it. Why would you save me from it in the end?" I ask lightheartedly, laying my body out over him, letting my overheated skin soak in the cool air.

"Maybe I'm just one of those guys in the movies that seems to be on both teams; the good and the bad." My heart feels a twinge of sadness at what he's implying. He still can't seem to get past the fact that he's done nothing wrong, it's just the road our life decided to lead us on.

He wraps his hand around mine, pulling it up to his lips to place a sweet kiss on my knuckle. I let him complete the charming gesture before leaning over and connecting our lips. My stomach erupts in fluttering butterflies, something that always happens when I kiss him. I don't let the kiss last too long though. If I did I wouldn't be able to get out the words that need to be said.

He has this affect over me that causes my brain to turn to mush. That causes my legs to turn to jelly just by one peck to the lips. That causes my love for him to grow with every single second that passes. It's indescribable how he manages to control me and my emotions effortlessly.

Pulling away from him, I place one last, quick kiss to his lips before saying, "You are the good guy, Niall. No matter what you choose to think, you are the good guy."

He sighs when he realizes that the only reason I ended our kiss was so I could talk to him about this. "Whatever you feel is right is fine with me, but I am allowed to have my own opinion."

"Of course you are," I say. "But that doesn't mean I can't tell you that your opinion is wrong, which it is." Our lips stay just millimeters away from each other as we talk, so they bump occasionally, which cause mine to twitch with desire. Desire to have those lips devour mine. But I withstand the temptation to hold this conversation. It's mandatory, even though there have been countless others like it.

"Whatever you say," he halfway consents, attaching our lips again. His move softly against mine as I recall his words from earlier, how he wanted to savor our kisses. He's so impossibly sweet sometimes. Well, most of the time.

A few minutes later and he detaches his lips from mine, that warm feeling that was bubbling in my stomach melting away.

"So, what do you want to do now?" I ask, bored with only listening to the TV.

"I don't know. I would suggest we go out somewhere, but I'm still not too comfortable with going out in public yet." His voice shakes as those freshly painful memories force their way back to the front of his brain.