Sugar

by Mia Ballard

On nights I couldn't muster the will, Michael would pitch an indecent fit, hissing threats about older women who could serve his desires more willingly. He had custom-built a roadmap of triggers, and boy, did he know how to steer me down that road. His threats—the murmurs of finding an older, more experienced woman and the fear of him leaving me—each were well-aimed darts, each carrying the sting of guilt. I'd relent and give him sex because I wanted him to love me.