Adam Only cover

Gay erotic romance. 39 000 words.

Universal link | Beaten Track Publishing | Goodreads

On stage, Adam lets his passion drive him. All his secret desires, everything nasty, dirty, and beautiful flows freely through him, for once in harmony. His soul thrives when his body moves, but only on stage. Adam’s passionate nature makes him a great dancer…and a failure at life. He’s a lonely, emotional mess. Going home with a man far out of his reach is the last thing Adam should do. Christoffer represents everything Adam isn’t: strong, independent, educated, and rich. His kind eyes, at odds with his brutish form, make Adam’s knees and restraint buckle.

Once Christoffer sees Adam dancing, he’s lost. The young man is mesmerizing, otherworldly, and unpredictable. Whatever might happen between them, it will be transient, and Christoffer will most likely get hurt. The temptation is too great, however, and the sex explosive. He might as well enjoy every moment he’s given, even if it’s just one day, maybe two. If Christoffer treads carefully, Adam might stay until Monday.

Warning: Adam Only is a gay erotic love story. It contains explicit language and sexual scenes between two consenting men. For adult readers only.

The Other Book

Goodreads | Amazon | Beaten Track Publishing

It was supposed to be just sex… Famous last words.

Tyler doesn’t overthink pleasure and avoids complications. He knows it might be stupid to get involved with his closeted boss, but the temptation is too great. At first, the cold and beautiful Joel Sandstrom seems to loathe Tyler’s guts.

Except one late night at the office, his reasons become clear…and his control breaks.

Every time they touch, Joel’s stony face comes alive, harsh lines smooth out, and for a minute, he looks serene. Happy, even. Just sex – dirty, intense, spectacular sex.

During their covert encounters, Tyler discovers the power he has over the lonesome man, and it’s a heady feeling. What if he could set Joel free and give him peace of mind? When Tyler realizes how much Joel needs him, he doesn’t regret breaking his own rules.

Gay erotic romance. Contains explicit scenes and sexual interactions between more than two partners. For adult readers only.

Fluffing with Roe and Brad

Brad: Erm… Roe, you know what fluffing means, right?

(sends link to Urban Dictionary)

Ooops. Okay. Take two:

The Summer of Fluff

 

Brad and Roe have each written their own fluffy book. This is not a coincidence. It’s an important event, surely signalling great societal changes with immense impact. The authors should be interviewed about it. It should be discussed widely and end with both books becoming no 1 bestsellers and later on result in world peace.

 

Here are the interviews.

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vanilla clouds

Romantic novella, 35 000 words.

Expected publication: July 25 th 2018 by Beaten Track Publishing

 

“I could spend days listening to you talk about chocolate.”

Sex and chocolate are the two pleasures Michał enjoys most in life.
His sex life has been nonexistent for some time, though. After a particularly bad hookup, he keeps mostly to himself. That leaves chocolate. Luckily, he works surrounded by the most delicious, extravagant produce in Gothenburg. Beside his job at the chocolaterie, his main source of excitement is his online friend, Magnus, whom he stubbornly refuses to meet in person.
A customer turns up at the chocolaterie one day—tall, shy, and charming. He could be just the right man. If Michał can step out of his overly safe shell, there might be not only chocolate, but sex, too. Maybe chocolate-flavored sex. And if he’s lucky, maybe even love.

Warning:
This book contains explicit scenes, adult language, and obscene amounts of chocolate.

Find Vanilla Clouds on Goodreads, Beaten Track Publishing, or Amazon.

 

Excerpt:

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A LOVE SONG FOR THE SAD MAN IN THE WHITE COAT

(unedited)

Part 3: Epilogue

Simon sat on the park bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was leafing through a book, frowning deep in thought. Matěj sat pressed with his back against Simon’s arm, his feet in the usual red sneakers perched on the opposite armrest. His longish shaggy hair reached to his eyebrows, he squinted in the sharp spring sunshine, taking a drag of his cigarette. He had a plain black T-shirt on, his tattoos on display. The small gauges in his ears were bright red. And because he refused to shave on weekends, his face was covered with two days’ worth of stubble. Simon, on the other hand, was clean shaven, his light brown hair cropped short, the button-down ironed.

An elderly couple passed them, the man looking straight forward with a stony face; the woman observed them slightly confused. Matěj winked at her smiling. She snapped her head forward leaning toward her husband saying something in his ear. The man shook his head at her. They didn’t look back as they disappeared behind the shrubberies.

Matěj wiggled against his boyfriend, leaning his head on Simon’s shoulder and put the cigarette back between his lips humming. He exhaled, watching the smoke against the blue sky. The sunshine was so intense at this time of the year it made his eyes tear up.

“You okay there?” Simon asked and turned his book, skimming the inscription on the back cover.

“Fine, why?”

“No reason. Just checking.”

Matěj turned a little, his cheek on Simon’s shoulder.

“I already asked Mike to come tomorrow,” he said in a careful tone watching the passers-by in the park.

“Kiss-ass,” Simon murmured, not lifting his eyes from the book.

“Shut up. He’s cool. I like him.”

“He’s an arrogant know-it-all.”

“Exactly my type of man. You two are so similar, you should be best buddies.”

Simon chuckled. “Invite whoever you want. Except for my mother.”

“I wouldn’t dare. She hates me like the plague. I am the devil incarnate.”

“Just leave the gauges out next time we go visit and we should be fine.”

“I doubt that.”

Matěj rose, throwing the stubbed-out cigarette in the nearest bin. His Sunday smoking tradition had started in February. Matěj had said he wanted to stop, but the thought of never smoking again felt too dire, a tedious finality. Hence, Simon had suggested once a week—like a Sunday ritual. During the weekend, Matěj always put the gauges back in—he didn’t wear them at work—and he didn’t shave until Monday morning. On Sundays, he had his one and only cigarette for the week. As far as Simon knew, Matěj had kept it like that for three months.

Simon followed Matěj down the path, and they started walking in the direction of the metro station.

“Do I have to wear a tie tomorrow?” Matěj asked, looking away.

“Not on my account.”

“I think I should.”

“Like I said, I don’t care.”

“But you will be wearing a tie.”

Simon smiled. “Actually, I have a bow tie. Turquoise.”

Matěj turned to him, grinning. “A bow tie? Yes! I’ll love you in a turquoise bow tie. Perfect.”

There wouldn’t be a ceremony. Just a couple of signatures, and a quiet dinner at a pub in Dejvice. They could be wearing jeans and T-shirts, and nobody would care.

“I could buy a bow tie in the morning,” Matěj mused. “A red one.”

Simon caught his partner around his shoulders pressing a quick kiss on his temple. He dropped his arm immediately.

“I hate this, you know,” Matěj said frowning.

“What?” They reached the end of the path and crossed the road to the opposite sidewalk. The streets were crowded with families and groups of tourists. Everyone seemed to be out of doors on a spring Sunday afternoon.

“My feeling ashamed. And you tolerating it, humoring me.”

“You seemed relaxed back there in the park. I didn’t want to push it.”

Matěj caught Simon’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “Let’s push them for a few minutes,” he said eyeing the people around them.

“Okay.”

They continued down the sidewalk and disappeared into the crowd.

A LOVE SONG FOR THE SAD MAN IN THE WHITE COAT

(unedited)

Part 1: Poor Jano

This late at night or this early in the morning, if a man was still awake, his emotions were more likely to be stirred. Why? Things happened at night that could not happen during a somber day. Things seemed different in the dark; more dramatic, more dangerous, more romantic. The impossible seemed possible and the possible was probable. Things to be experienced, to be felt deeply. Things that hurt and memories that lasted. In a dimly-lit hipster bar in Prague, a young man was falling in love.

His name was Jano, and he was new in the group of casual acquaintances. He thought of himself as a simple man; he came from a small town in the farthest eastern corner of Slovakia, and he’s been living and working in the big fancy city for barely half a year. That’s why he tried so hard. He did not want to appear the hillbilly he admittedly was. There was a renowned hematologist nursing a James-Bond cocktail, a psychiatrist staining her ultra-thin white cigarette with lipstick (making Jano think about murdering jealous mistresses in old mystery books), a performance artist (whatever that meant) and an honest-to-god published writer. The youngest guy was an Australian, and that was grand enough by itself. Jano could see through the pretentious noblesse and false cheerfulness of these people. But he wanted them to accept him anyway. To like him even. Mostly because of Simon.

They all circled around Simon like a cloud of moths.

Jano was under the spell as well from the very first moment. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. Simon was a true hypnotist. Intelligent, educated, lonesome and strong, an eloquent liberal. Sarcastic but not poisonous. He was friendly but contained, self-possessed to a fault. And he looked like a lighthouse. Tall, graceful, he towered over the grinding tumbling crowd, his smile reserved but kind and understanding, his green eyes clever, penetrating. Jano had never met a man quite like that. Because there was nobody quite like Simon. He felt the sharp green eyes watching him and he shuddered with anticipation. Tonight he would be leaving the bar with Simon.

A LOVE SONG FOR THE SAD MAN IN THE WHITE COAT

(unedited)

Part 1: The Mental Patient

—The Bohnice Psychiatric Hospital, Prague, August 2014—

It was early Sunday morning in August. The boy sat in a small room, the sun painting white stripes on his faded hospital gown through the prison-like window. The room was empty. Very empty. Void. No objects to manipulate, no furniture except for the heavy bed that was screwed to the floor. No decorations. What would be the point? There was literally nothing in the room except faded white paint on the walls and the bed he was sitting on. Nothing to play with, nothing to hurt himself with. Emphasis on the second. He scratched absently on the bandages on his forearms. They itched, the healing wounds under them burned when he moved his hands. Stupid. So stupid.

A nurse peeked inside and her gaze swept over the space, checking. They did that all the time. None of them knocked.

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A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat

Part 1: Marta moving out of Simon’s apartment

(unedited)

Marta folded the last towel once more to stuff it in the already bursting bag. The last bag. She was deeply convinced she was doing a good thing. Still, she had to force the calm expression.

She dragged the heavy luggage into the living room leaving the bedroom empty except for a stripped bed and dust on the top shelf of the closet where she couldn’t reach. She stopped close to the door when she noticed Simon. He sat on the sofa deep in thought staring into a shoe box he held in his lap like a sleeping infant. His face was inscrutable. But Marta knew him too well. She left the bag by the door and slowly approached. She put her hand on Simon’s shoulder and sat down next to him.

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A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat

My first full-length novel. Do I dare to say this is an important book? It’s important to me. Simon has been my friend and companion for more than three years. Simon and I had many long conversations over the time, but he deemed many of them superfluous—at one point, the book had over 95k words. It became ”only” 63k. The time I spent writing and re-writing Simon surpasses the time I invested in all my other stories together. Simon was with me when I wrote Ondro and Alex, and he’s still with me these days, mostly raising his skeptical eyebrow when I’m trying to write Gabriel. I’m not sure anyone can love Simon as much as I do. But I’m not going to stop you from trying.

Release day: December 15, 2017

Beaten Track Publishing

 

Blurb

Simon had always expected love to feel different than this. Whether it was his Catholic upbringing or the poetry he’d read—Simon had thought that true love would be uplifting, fulfilling, that it would give a meaning to his loitering, and add joy to his leisure. But not this kind of love. This love was a flesh-eating monster, sharp-clawed and evil-eyed, ravishing his mind with medieval cruelty.

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MUDr. Simon Mráz, PhD, assistant professor at the First Faculty of Medicine, Charles University in Prague, sat at the center table in the lecture hall, drawing stick figures on his notepad. Instead of his usual white coat, he wore a dark gray jacket that itched uncomfortably around his neck. He squinted at the paper, fighting drowsiness.

Four minutes to half past seven.

It was still mostly dark outside. Who the hell came up with the idiotic notion doctors should learn to rise early? They were no fucking bakers. He felt last night’s long run in his thighs and calves. Even his shoulders ached. He’d overdone it again.

A stick figure scratching its ass. A stick figure showing a middle finger to the public.

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