TLWM: The Hate Experience

\XXXVI/ Testing Testing

3:38 a.m.

     Letty couldn't sleep. She had been tossing and turning all night. Prince's tour bus should've reached Richmond, VA by now and she knew he was still awake. Girl, just give in.

     Reaching over the bed, she cut the lamp on and found the tour itinerary in her night drawer. If this was supposed to be some type of standoff, she was fine waving the white flag. She missed her man.

     The phone rang about 10 times before there was a pause. She could hear the line was connected but no words, no greeting.

     "Hello?"

     Prince cleared his throat. "Hello?" he replied, his voice low as a growl.

     "Did I wake you up?"

     "I think so."

      Letty's tummy tightened from the rough voice on the other end. It was usually him waking her up, never the other way around. Prince didn't get called. He called you.

     "Hold on, baby."

     Letty had hearts in her eyes as she bounced her head back on the pillow, reaching for the lamp to bring the room back to dark.

     "Let me switch phones." He sounded like straight sex.

     Waiting, her mind rewound to Saturday night when she was in his bed wearing nothing but The Red Prince...when he was inside and underneath her, directing the flow of her riding hips like they were a band of two. Keep it right there, he was saying, sucking an inhale through his teeth. Steady, mama, steady...oooh yeah, there it go. Come all over that—

     "Mrs. Nelson?"

     "Heh?"

     "You hear me?"

     "No, sorry."

     "I said I fell asleep on the floor." His bed creaked in the background. "I was watching the playback of the show. What are you doing?"

     "Throbbing."

     "Hm?"

     "Nothing."

     "Did you say throbbing?" 

     "How come you don't call me anymore?"

     "Why are you throbbing?"

     "I haven't heard your voice in over 72 hours and my body is just overreacting."

     "Before I get this apology off my chest, you need me to get you off right quick?"

     "No," she said, sucking in her fluttering belly. "Yes—no."

     "Just admit that's why you called me."

     "It's not."

     "Lock your door."

     "No, babe."

     "Lock your door so I can tell you what I'm gon' do to you when you get to New York."

23 explicit minutes later...

      "To clarify," Letty said, finding a comfortable position again in bed, "I didn't call for that. I didn't call for an apology either."

     "Well, I'm still sorry." More awake now, his tone had warmed up. "I was trying to shoot my point across your objections but—it came out all wrong. I honestly didn't think you'd take it like you did, but I get it."