Excerpt for Forty-Eight Hours of Bliss by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


An Owen & Makayla Story




This story is fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places, or events are used fictitiously or are expressions of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, events or places is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Y. M. Nelson.

Excerpt of “Seventy-Two Hours Too Long” copyright © 2018 by Y. M. Nelson

Cover photo by Y. M. Nelson

Cover design by Y. M. Nelson

All rights reserved.

Published by One Creative Summer Press, Charlotte, NC

ISBN-13: 978-0-9987837-3-4

Reproducing, scanning, and distributing this book without permission constitutes theft of this author’s intellectual property. Please purchase additional copies through authorized retailers. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.


Forty-Eight Hours of Bliss

Forty-Eight Hours of Bliss Playlist

About the Author

Also by Y. M. Nelson

Sneak Peek of “Seventy Two Hours Too Long”


Owen stood on Makayla’s porch and looked at her door for a full minute before ringing the doorbell. The bell was plain and so was the door, but the situation was anything but. He couldn’t keep still—his hands were shaking—so he clasped his fingers in front of him.

She answered the door, grabbed his arm, and yanked him inside her house. “Hey. You’re out.”

“For now. On bail,” he said.

She dove at him, kissing him full on the mouth and throwing him off balance. “You don’t smell like jail.”

He straightened. “Do you know what jail smells like?”

“No. But I imagine it’s not nice.”

“It’s not.” He snarled.

“Why are we talking about jail smells?”

“Why are we talking at all?” He stared at her, one part of him wanting her to just be quiet and let him kiss her, and one part wanted to sit and stare at her while she talked for hours.

“Oh yeah, I wondered why you didn’t smell like jail.”

“My dad came to get me. I took a shower at my parents’ house. Can we go back to before this talk about jail smells?” He framed her face with his hands and kissed her slowly. He wanted to savor every morsel of her lips, her mouth, in case he had to go back to that place for good.

Her arms went around his waist, and he smiled against her lips. This was nice, he thought. Really nice. If they could just stay like this, he could forget it all, and…

She broke the kiss and leaned away from him. “What happened in there?” she asked.

No, not now! He knew she would ask him about it, but not now. “Do we have to talk about this now? I like what we were just doing.”

“Yes.” She looked pointedly at him even though her hands were still on his waist.

Dammit. He decided to tell her just enough to satisfy her for now. “I was in a cell for twelve hours with about ten men, two of whom were waiting for transfer to the pen.”

“The pen,” she repeated. There was a little dazed look in her eye. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t? Jail is a temporary—”

“Not that. I mean this whole situation! Please, let me go.” She squirmed.

But he wouldn’t let her go. He moved his hands from her face and wrapped his arms around her neck. Being pressed against her was warm and safe. “No. I don’t want to. Letting go means talking about this, and I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But I need to sit down.” They sat beside each other on the sofa. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but none of this seems real to me. I know you. And crap that we've done doesn’t compare.... This whole jail thing doesn't seem like you at all.”

“It’s not me, but it is what happened to me. And it’s not over.” He flopped back against the sofa, wishing it would envelop him in its cushions. The sofa was so much more comfortable than that hard jail bench where he sat beside a guy that looked homeless.

Twelve hours in there, and then at least an hour to wash off the jail stench, get dressed, and get back to her. It was after 11:00 at night. This same hour the night before, their lives had changed when after almost two decades of knowing her, he kissed her for the first time. Now, their lives had changed again. Would this be what his life would be in the months to come? Stolen moments with Makayla, discovering her in a new light, with her struggling to rationalize it all? Because it definitely wasn’t over; it had just begun. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad, so he decided it was both.

“Okay, I get it. It’s not over.” She fidgeted. “Do you want something to eat?”

He shook his head.

“Um… maybe something to drink? I went to the liquor store earlier, and—”

“No!” He watched her squirming and grabbed her arms to still her. “Stop it.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t say anything. Just let me kiss you.” He moved a hand to her cheek, caressed it, and hoped the action would take away the sharpness of his tone. Everything inside him felt urgent, insistent. He had to kiss her, to touch her, and he had to do it now, or he would lose her. “You know, what they say about a man that’s just got out of prison is true.” He laughed and leaned toward her.

She smiled but didn’t relax. “You were in jail, not prison. And only for—”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” He lightly touched his lips to hers.

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