GLORIA

Instead of the hunger I was praying for, his face twisted in mild irritation. Like I was a child tugging on his sleeve when he was busy.

“Gloria,” he sighed, running a hand over his damp hair. “What are you talking about? Please, not this morning. I need to prepare for today’s sermon.”

I blinked at him. My thighs clenched together, my body still aching, and I felt my chest tighten with anger. “Michael… baby, please,” I whispered, sliding off the bed, letting the lace ...