51. I could've lost you. - Nick

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Sierra sinks into the stool across from where I ladle sizzling bacon onto a napkin-lined plate

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Sierra sinks into the stool across from where I ladle sizzling bacon onto a napkin-lined plate. "I'm sorry."

It's the fifteenth time she's apologized this morning, and I hold back a sigh, twisting to place the tongs and pan on the counter.

"Sierra." I slide my hands along the countertop to grasp hers, holding her gaze. "I don't care. It's fine. Okay? You don't need to apologize about anything."

Sighing, she pauses, then fumbles for words. "But you, like, I mean, I get that you want to have sex, and I love you, Nicholas. I want to, too, it's just..." She trails off, playing with her fingers.

"I'm not upset that you're not interested right now. You're not shoving me away from your life; it's just this one area that you need time in." I move my palm to her face. "We've got all the time in the world now."

Sierra drops her gaze to the countertop and slides from my grasp. This morning I woke up raring to go after a hot dream about us. She didn't mind when I gripped her hip and pressed my hard-on against her, letting out a sleepy moan as I sucked her neck, sweeping my palm down her body.

The not minding ended as I traveled kisses down her stomach, gliding my hands along her arms as I slid my way between her legs. When I pressed my lips to the letters she carved below her stomach, her knee-jerk response left me groaning and clutching my nose for not asking permission.

A pit mushrooms in my stomach as she slips back on her chair, and I force a smile. "Want to watch TV while we eat breakfast?"

The nightmares occur intermittently even though Sierra knows he's gone for good. She wanted to avoid refilling her sedative prescription in an attempt to try healing differently than before. My heart hurts when I think about her words. Same shit, different year, but I'm not doing those pills again.

Exhausted from a bout of insomnia, she wriggles her body so that we spoon on the couch after breakfast, my back pressed against the seat, then she flips over in my embrace. Theme music from our current binge show plays as she inhales deeply through her nose, sliding her eyes closed. I run my fingertips over a spot on her bicep. "Love all of your little arm freckles."

"I love your face," she mumbles, splaying fingers over my chest.

I raise her arm to my lips, dotting gentle kisses along it. "I'm going to memorize every last one."

"I'm going to memorize your face."

"I've got yours memorized," I say, curving my hand around her jaw.

A sleepy smile spreads, and she pops one eye open, her voice raspy. "Tired, sorry."

"Sleep, then, my sweetheart."

A blissful sigh escapes her lips as she moves in tighter and I find a gentle rhythm of stroking her hair through the tips of my fingers, focusing my attention on the television. She murmurs my name after a long moment of silence. "Nicholas?"

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