by M. C. Cerny
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Copyright
Dedication
Night Owl
Casey
James
On Air
Radio Silent
Song Bird
Wicked Games
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Fresh * Sexy * Books
Other Titles By M.C. Cerny
Night Owl
The Complete Serial
M.C. Cerny
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Night Owl
1. Casey
2. James
3. Casey
4. James
5. Casey
6. James
7. Casey
8. James
On Air
9. Casey
10. James
11. Casey
12. James
13. Casey
14. James
15. Casey
16. James
Radio Silent
17. Casey
18. James
19. Casey
20. James
21. Casey
22. James
23. Casey
24. James
Song Bird
25. Casey
26. James
27. Casey
28. James
29. Casey
30. James
31. Casey
32. James
33. Casey
34. James
Wicked Games
35. Casey
36. James
37. Casey
38. James
39. Casey
40. James
41. Casey
42. James
43. Casey
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Fresh * Sexy * Books
Other Titles By M.C. Cerny
Copyright © 2017 by M.C. Cerny
Edited by Jen Matera (2016), Kim Young (2015)
Cover Design by M.C. Cerny
Stock Photos from Depositphotos
Formatting by M.C. Cerny
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Cerny, M.C.
Night Owl - The Complete Serial/M.C. Cerny – 1st ed.
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For my curvy girls.
I
Night Owl
May love always be spontaneous and sweet…
1
Casey
“Good evening night owls of Philadelphia. This is your host, Casey Cole, rocking the mic here at Z107 FM. Let’s get those confessions rolling in. I will be taking your calls for the next few hours.”
I adjust my headphones, tucking an errant lock of dark hair behind my ear, pushing the red light to start my late night call-in show. Sliding my rolling chair, I let my full ass press deep down into my throne, in front of a switchboard of buttons and controls. I love pushing those square and rounded switches. I run my finger around the switch thinking, I’m the one fully in control of what happens here. I can open the line of communication or shut it down at my whim. The power feels incredible if not overwhelming at times behind the station microphone. My nails slip over to depress the color-coded buttons, reaching out over the radio waves to talk to my fellow night owls. It’s strangely arousing to have contact with strangers like me who can’t sleep a full wink at night.
It took two summers interning and one blow job… not mine, thank you. I only set that bad boy up to get this coveted late night spot, which worked out well for my insomnia. I figure if I’m not going to sleep, I may as well find a job that’ll work with my schedule. The radio lab where I’m broadcasting from is cold as shit and my nipples are rocking through my turtleneck dress. I rub my chest, hoping they’ll warm up, but all I get is a snarky look from the man in the sound room who’s watching me touch myself. I pat the girls down and get back to work, nodding to Tucker, my producer and the said receiver of “the blow job I didn’t give”, behind the glass wall. He owes me for that one and I don’t let him live it down. I pick up line four and answer the first caller of the night.
“Hey, night owls. Casey here. What’s your confession?” Drawling out my greeting, I wait a moment, listening to a deep breath inhale and then exhale. The way the caller pauses before speaking immediately alerts me to who it is. Those pesky nipples of mine rise again and the ache between my legs starts a staccato pulse in time with my heartbeat. Damn him.
“I’d like to know what it’s going to take for you to go to dinner with me, Casey Cole.”
I shake my head at the familiar voice. James Austin is the CEO and owner of Austin Communications. In other words, my boss. My very hot, very interested, and needs to remain hands off boss.
For the last eighteen months, he’s been asking me to dinner. Why? I have no clue what some rich fat cat would want with a girl like me. I’m curvy as hell. I’ve got more twists and turns in my figure than Lombard Street in San Francisco. I keep bizarre hours and can eat my weight in caramel toffee ice cream. Essentially, I’m not his type.
“I don’t date callers. Sorry.” Or bosses.
“I’ll try again another time,” he says. It’s hard to miss his smile through the air waves–cocky man. Pausing, I wait for his sigh, hanging up the phone with finality. Each night is a struggle to hear the lingering disappointment in his voice before moving on to the next call. “Hi. This is Casey. What’s your late night confession…?”
This is how I spend my evenings… taking calls and doling out advice to the lonely soles of Philadelphia. I’ve loved radio for as long as I can remember and since I don’t film well on television, because of my lovely large breasts above the news desk, news broadcasting was out and radio was in. My voice is pitched low, the tone controlled, and I’ve been told it comes off as a sensual fantasy. A sex phone operators dream, but I wanted something better–like a steady paycheck with benefits.
I interviewed all over the country, and Z107 FM gave me a chance… a chance in the mailroom my first year, and as a production assistant my second. Apparently, my curves made me second chair until I had an opportunity to sit in for Sabrina, the traffic wench. I made it known to management that I hated traffic, so they blackballed me for two more summers and here I finally sat, perched on my late night radio throne of minor stardom. God, it felt good, and there was no way in hell I was going to screw it up by letting my hot boss grease my wheels. I much prefer him greasing my paycheck, thank you.
My show runs from 11:00 p.m. un
til 2:00 a.m., Jamal takes over with some prerecorded material, from the soft rock jocks Luke and Eddie. The morning rush hour show starts at 5:00 a.m. It’s not a bad gig and it pays the rent… mostly. I still have to walk dogs uptown with my plus-sized ass, and record a bunch of advertisements and voice-overs to make ends meet. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, except maybe to end this dry spell I’ve been having. In fact, it’s about as long as my employment here at Austin Communications…
2
James
Her voice flows through the radio in my car like silky sheets slowly slipping to the floor. As she answers callers and listens to their sob stories and confessions, I start to think about all the things I want to do to Casey. I think I’ve been half in love with her from the day she started working for the radio station. Long dark hair, full breasts that would fill my hands if she just let me touch them… I’d give a lot of things for Casey to let her guard down and let me in but, for now, I’ll settle for our banter during my once a night phone call to ask her to dinner. She always says no. Cheeky woman. It’s become a standing joke with her callers following suit but, if I can’t have her, she better damn well tell them no. I clench my fist momentarily. The desire to go inside the building, haul her fine body over my lap, and spank her lovely ass to a rosy pink is tempting. So damn tempting. But, right now, I’ll just drive around the city until her show finishes.
This is our nightly routine and one I’ve seldom missed. On the nights I have, I always have Tucker or send my driver to take her home. I don’t like her neighborhood or her apartment building, and I especially don’t like the dickhole who lives on her floor next door. Smug bastard always has some comment or a leering look I’d love to beat off his face. I don’t because last time I threatened to, Casey refused a ride home from me for nearly two weeks. I don’t think I could take that again, so I drive around the block until her show finishes and I can pick her up. Jamal is on the radio, so I know it’s a matter of minutes before she exits through the front doors of the building. We play it causal, but she knows I’m going to keep at it.
I drive along the sidewalk pressing the automatic button for the window down as she walks in the direction of her neighborhood. The bus stop is on the corner, but she’s nuts if she thinks I’ll let her take the bus home.
“James, why do you insist on doing this?” Casey tilts her head asking me the same question she asks every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday nights. She walks up to my car dressed in some unflattering dress that covers every square inch of her real estate from her neck to her thighs. The only perk is that the fabric pulls together, hugging her hourglass figure.
She’s leaning into the passenger window and I nod for her to get in the car. She slides inside my BMW, fastens her seat belt promptly, and then sneers her pert nose at my car. Sighing, I give her the same answer I always do. “For the same reason you get in my car every single time.”
I’m convinced she enjoys being defiant every opportunity she gets and I enjoy thwarting her efforts. My fingers itch to tap her on the nose like a naughty kitten for taking such a dislike of my car. At least she’s wearing her black “fuck me” boots, over-the-knee leather that cinches under her knees. Tiny chains hug her ankles and I’ve a good fantasy going on in my head about tying those legs up by her boots. The boots almost make up for her hideous dress and bratty attitude tonight. I wonder what she’d do if I demanded she strip the damn thing off.
She continues to hold out fighting this insane attraction when I try anything to spend more time with her, “Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head and cups a hand over her mouth, yawning deeply and teasing the shit out of me. I’d love to slip something else between those pouty pink lips of hers. Neither of us sleep well at night. Me mostly because I fantasize about her, and her because she probably conjures up ways to eviscerate me with rejection three times a week.
“No, James. Just drive me home.” The voice that titillates the city of brotherly love sounds tired and my chest clenches. I should be tucking her in, not just dropping her off. “Don’t you have a date or something to go to?” Her lips twitch and I know what she wants to know. No, I’m not fucking anybody, just as she’s not fucking anybody. We should be kicking boots together, but she is so damn stubborn, she won’t let our mutual attraction do what it needs to do.
“The only standing date I have is driving you home, beautiful. Now relax and let me drive.” The rest of our ride is silent and I contemplate doing more than just dropping her off at her apartment building and walking her to her door…
3
Casey
My head rests against the glass window where I can see his reflection clear in the mirror. His angular face is shadowed by the day’s growth of stubble in moonlight and city traffic making him glow. James Austin is like my very own Batman. Weirdly comforting, domineering, and always there when I need him–yet I keep him at arm’s length for my sanity.
Ever since I had a caller threaten me on the radio when I rejected his advances, James has insisted on this ridiculous behavior of driving me home every night I work the late show. He doesn’t talk about it and never brings it up, but I know it bothers him. It should bother me but I live in denial. It was unsettling at the time it started happening. I thought I could handle it… until the creeper started to email the station and send inappropriate gifts several times a week. I don’t ask if the mailroom still gets stuff because I would never sleep at night. My medicine cabinet has a filled prescription, but the thought of taking drugs bothers me more. Now James has all of my incoming mail screened so I don’t have to see any of it. Do I consider that a perk of my job? No, not really.
The balls of my feet ache from walking dogs for the swanky folks who live on James’ side of town. I might have worn the boots just to screw with him, but I’m cursing myself for not bringing flat shoes with me for the barking bitches I had to deal with earlier. When James pulled up to the curb in his hot and sexy car, I can’t say I wasn’t totally fine with it. My poor little piggies will get a rest on the short ride home and I won’t have to fight some vagrant man, who reeks of too much booze, for a seat on the bus. We trade snarky comments and he smiles at me under the glow of the interior light of his car. I see his dark hair is rakishly brushed back, choppy lanks falling in just the right places. It’s unfair for a man to have such great hair. Thick brows define his face, and his eyes penetrate my chest, causing it to ache. I push it down. He’s my boss, but we’ve been at this game a long time, resisting each other.
I try with everything I have to hold the yawn back, but I can barely do that. He’s gone quiet and is focused on driving, weaving in and out of traffic, in a rhythm that soothes me. I burrow deeper into the leather seat of his car, lulled by the soft music he plays by an artist I’ve never heard of, and feel him turn up the heat. It’s seducing me into closing my heavy eyes, and the last thing I remember is the briefest touch of his fingers threading through my hair.
James slowly wakes me by stroking down my hair and gently rubbing his hand over my arm. He squeezes my shoulder, and I look at him. Those eyes are full of something I’m not sure I can handle emotionally, but I can’t seem to say no to.
“You fell asleep, beautiful.” The smell of him is all man inside this enclosed space and I swear it’s a drug, pulling at me to make bad decisions.
“Mmm.” There’s a lot I could say in response, but I’m unnerved, wondering how long he’s been looking at me. I limit my verbal response because, yes, this man entices very bad decisions.
James has an uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking. “I admit driving around the block a few times. I didn’t want to wake you once you nodded off. You seemed… peaceful.” Smiling, he trails his fingers over my face gently and, in my half-awake state, I turn my cheek into his warm calloused palm.
He continues the conversation one sided. “I would have driven longer if you would let me.” He wiggles a finger to stroke that sensitive spot and I sit up, wide awake, and push
him away.
“I should find that creepy, but I’m really too tired to think it through. You’ve been pushing my boundaries lately, James.” I cross my arms defensively. How dare he? Yet… I want to dare him to keep pushing me to play the tape through to the end.
“I want you and I believe you want the same thing, too. This game is getting old, Casey, but I can’t seem to stop playing with you.” James rests his hand against my face a second time, trailing it around to cup the back of my neck, drawing me in. Our eyes are looking and searching, and he’s pulling me closer.
“I shouldn’t want this,” I mutter, inches away from his lips. Our breath co-mingles and his mint stings my mouth and nose sharply, pleasantly.
“But you do.” James leans in further.
To deny the truth would be a lie so I go with the obvious.
“You’re my boss.”
“And?” His question lingers between us and I feel forced to fill the silence quickly.
“I’m not going to have dinner with you.” Shaking my head no does nothing to deter him.
He smiles.
“It’s a little late in the evening for dinner don’t you think?” Chuckling James renews his efforts and I’m helplessly struck down.
“But, you’re my boss.”
“You said that already, and that’s the most bullshit excuse you’ve given me since we met.” His lips touch mine, cutting off any retort I might have had. His tongue darts out for a sample, and my own tangles with it. I’m shocked, but don’t move away because he’s right. I do want this. I want this so fucking much, my thighs squeeze together. I wish I wasn’t wearing this dress that’s strangling the breath out of me, as much as James is sucking it from my lips.