I finished “One Night in Asheville” this morning. That’s not going to be the final title, although I don’t really know what it will be. I’m putting the story on the shelf for a little while to marinate; when I come back to it for edits, I’ll consider changing the title. It’s definitely the most explicit thing I’ve written in some ways, and I’m surprised at some of it. But I like it.

In case you’re interested, it’s 14,000 words, which makes it a novelette or a very short novella.

Here’s one of the less-explicit parts:

Tom and Anita took a nap together after they washed up, and then, around nine, ordered dinner from a food delivery service. Nothing fancy — just a thin-crust cheese pizza and a couple of chocolate desserts. They ate naked in the bed, the covers and sheets messed up, leaning back against the headboard. Afterward, he held her while they checked their phones.

“The pictures came out good,” she said, sending them over to him.

“Of course they did. You’re in them.”

“Can we take some more?”

“Of course.”

It had been a while since Tom had hit Anita, and the redness was fading, but she had plenty of marks and bruises. Her breasts by far were the most decorated, with purple marks on both sides and underneath, but her stomach had marks too. He took pictures of all of them with her phone, and she sent them to him. Then she traced the purple spots on her stomach with one finger. “No one ever hit me here before.”

“Did you like it?”

“I didn’t think I would,” she admitted, “but because it was you doing it, I just wanted you to keep hurting me.”

“I can hurt you some more, if you like.”

“Well, you haven’t actually spanked me. Not really.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Can you spank me now?”

“I can spank you any time you like.”