In It to Win It - Book cover

In It to Win It

Natalie Ashee

Manifesting Lies

Noelle

Strong hands grip my waist, effortlessly lifting me so that I’m straddling the powerful thighs of the hulking, brick wall of a man about to take me to heaven.

I barely recognize the desperate mewling sounds, so faint and pleading, as my own, while those same capable hands help impale me on his hard, thick cock.

“Fuck, Noelle. You’re so tight, baby.” His strained voice makes desire surge through my veins hot and fast, setting my insides ablaze at the feel of him.

Words evade me and I’m left speechless as he’s buried to the hilt inside of me. I’m so close to coming, I’m afraid to move.

I’ve wanted this for so long. So, so long, and now that it’s happening, I think I might faint from the intensity of it all.

“You feel so good, Noelle. So perfect.”

He’s all growly baritone and desire thicker than diner grits, stealing my capacity for anything but making these desperate, tortured noises. So big, powerful. Stroking me, leaving me breathless.

I’m so wet, it’s embarrassing. It’s like my first orgasm all over again—intense, all-consuming, and a little frightening.

It’s like I’m fourteen again, discovering masturbation for the first time.

Except this is more. So much more as he increases his pace, my rhythm matching his, and I’m driven closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so close, baby. I can feel your walls squeezing me. Come for me, Noelle.”

Yes. Yes!

“Noelle?”

“Noelle!”

I jerk upright in my seat, momentarily disoriented, and groan as my dream disintegrates into fragments and disappears into the faded recesses of my memory.

I shake the drowsiness from my foggy brain, internally cursing myself for falling asleep.

I grudgingly turn to face Cincinnati Barker, shortstop for the Atlanta Statesmen Baseball Team and owner of the Barker Athletics Facility I work at. AKA, my boss.

I’m the operations manager for the facility that hosts some of the top ranking athletes in Georgia, ranging from ages as young as five to as old as thirty.

At the B-FAC—which is what we call it—we’re the home of the most elite baseball and softball select teams in the country, while offering introductory classes, batting practice, and even personal coaching to players of all ages and skill levels.

All thanks to Cin. One of the best players in the entire MLB, and my best friend.

And unfortunately for me, the object of the dreams I’ve been having.

My cheeks flame at being caught not only sleeping on the job but also dreaming.

And just because the universe has a sadistic fetish for the hopeless, it was too much to wish for something more innocent. With rainbows and ponies maybe.

Fat chance.

Now I have to pretend I wasn’t just having naughty, sweaty, panty-soaking fantasies about my boss.

If there’s a God out there somewhere in the world, I pray to high heavens—or hell if that’s who’s listening—Cin didn’t walk into my office in the middle of my unconscious orgasm.

If so, I may as well hand in my resignation letter now and skip town.

Long night? he signs to me, grinning his usual, wide smile. I swallow hard as I struggle to pretend like looking at him doesn’t break my heart every time I do it.

“I’m sorry. Lindy from payroll quit without notice so I was up all night getting it done. I haven’t even been home yet. If I’d known you were visiting today, I’d have made sure—”

“I’m just fucking with you, Noelle. I’m not on an official visit. I got back in town from our series in Pittsburgh two hours ago, thought I’d stop by and see you.”

I snort. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Cin never visits me at work. Not unless he needs something.

His curly dark brown hair has grown out a little long in the last couple months, flopping a little over his forehead, but I don’t mind. I’ve always loved his curls long.

His warm, chocolate brown eyes sparkle with pride like they always do when he visits his facility, and the pronounced dimples in his cheeks make the heartbeat between my legs pulse.

The man has always been beautiful and he’s never had to try. I quickly avert my gaze back to my paperwork when I realize I’m ogling.

“I just wanted to check on you. Glad I did too. You must be burning the candle at both ends if you’re drooling on your desk in the middle of the day.”

Cin grabs the second desk chair from the cubicle attached to my office and flips it around to straddle it.

My hand instinctively reaches for my face. “I do not drool!”

“You’re right. You don’t drool. You do snore, though.”

My cheeks brighten as memories of imaginary campfires, tents in the backyard, and zero adult supervision come to the forefront.

It’s hard to believe so much has changed since we were two kids watching the night sky, trying to determine if the crescent of the moon was waning or waxing. Cin once accused me of snoring so loud, I scared the squirrels off.

We met the summer after fifth grade when his parents moved to Peach Creek, Georgia. He was the new kid and knew no one, and I—well, I took advantage of that opportunity like a gnat takes to honey.

In a small town like Peach Creek, everyone knows everyone and that’d never worked out in my favor.

I was a dirty, ten-year-old, tomboy who wore whatever hand-me-downs Nonna could get from the Baptist church on Spruce Street, and peanut butter sandwiches with canned beans made up most of my childhood diet.

Other kids in our grade avoided me due to my disability and the fact that I was dirt poor, and to be honest, I can’t even blame them.

Looking back, I’m surprised Cin and I had become such fast friends. But he hadn’t cared one bit about my hand sewn clothes or the fact that I wore a cochlear implant.

He caught me walking home from the supermarket one day, pulled his bike right up to me, and offered me a ride home on his handlebars. My life changed forever that day.

“Whatever,” I mumble, attempting to straighten the wrinkles out of my skirt, suddenly self-conscious of the fact that I’m still wearing the same thing from yesterday.

I’m at least grateful I’d had the foresight to wear my five-inch Louboutin’s.

“What’s with the attitude?” He tugs at my hair because he knows I hate it and stage whispers, “Did someone get a visit from Miss April?”

“God, you’re disturbed.”

He laughs, raising his hands up in surrender. “It’s your fault. You don’t like when I use the ‘P’ word.”

“It’s not the word. It’s the insinuation that—you know what? Never mind. Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually . . . I need you to take a week off,” he says. “Yeah, I’m getting complaints from the staff about you. Turns out, pissed off Directors? Bad for workplace morale.”

My eyes complete a full circle. “This place wouldn’t survive a day without me, let alone a week.”

I put my reading glasses back on and turn back toward my computer. Half to get back to work, but mostly to avoid looking at him. “Especially not during baseball season.”

“I’d survive a day,” he argues.

“Oh yeah? What’s the admin password to our portal server?” I ask, popping a stick of gum into my mouth. I’d brushed my teeth earlier in the morning before my nap, but still.

“Or maybe the alarm code to the building?” I suggest, when he doesn’t answer me.

“Alright, I get it. But seriously, dude. When are you gonna hire a PA? You can’t do everything around here. I made you director, not dictator. You have to delegate,” he says, frowning.

“I know, I know. I’m conducting interviews this week for the payroll position and my assistant so you don’t have to worry,” I assure him. I’ve needed an assistant for months now, but I’ve been putting it off.

It’s not that I want to do everything. God, no. But, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m reluctant to hire someone for reasons of my own.

When Cin came to me four years ago with his business plan for B-FAC and asked me to come on as director of operations, I was so excited.

I was a brand-spanking-new graduate from Spelman College and there was my best friend in the whole world, offering me a job straight out of university with good pay, benefits, and an opportunity to work with him.

He’d even paid for my MBA.

At the time, it made so much sense, but I was just a naïve twenty-two-year-old, totally smitten and starry-eyed over Cin the way I’d been ever since that first day we met.

Andstupid.

I never considered that I’d become restless dealing with him on a daily basis, knowing I’d always be ‘the best friend’ to him and nothing more.

As my feelings continued to grow, it only got harder to watch the only man I’ve ever loved, gallivant across the bible belt with his congregation of cleat chasers.

I’ve never told Cin how I feel, nor will I ever, but I also don’t know how much longer I can take this dynamic. In high school, I chalked my crush up to teenage infatuation.

In college, I thought going to an all-girl institution— and four years away from him— would help me focus on my business management degree, allowing me the necessary space I’d need to get over him.

But it hadn’t been as easy as I’d hoped. Cin had made a point to call, video chat, and visit me as often as he could since he was only up at UGA, making it that much harder for me to put the much needed distance between us.

He had no way of knowing how my heart would die a little every time some trashy tabloid caught him stumbling out of a hotel or club with a stunning—albeit, unnatural—beauty on his arm.

Or how pathetic I felt watching his games at home in my apartment, secretly wishing he were coming home to me afterwards. It’s not his fault I fucked around and caught feelings.

And secretly wished on stars.

And prayed to God that one day he’d pluck me out of the friend zone.

Nope. I only have myself to blame. Why should our friendship be ruined or strained because I can’t keep my emotions in check?

Cin raises an eyebrow at me and I sign for him to ‘piss off.’

He sighs. “Alright, chief. Don’t bite my head off. I’m just worried you might be overdoing it is all.”

“Well you don’t have to worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

If only I could manifest that boldfaced lie to existence.

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