Gentle Giants
He’s enormous, and he’s spent his whole life being careful with his size. She wants him to stop being careful with her. Gentle Giants is a series of standalone size-difference romances with huge, tender heroes who fall first, plenty of heat, and a happy ending every time. All Piper Kane books are free in Kindle Unlimited.
Handle with Care
He spent four years keeping his hands to himself. Then she moved in next door.
Birdie Bywater has been told her whole life that she wants too much. Too much space, too much presence, too much everything—or so her ex liked to remind her. She’s done apologizing for it. She’s opening her flower shop in a building that smells like sawdust and fresh wood, and everything about this new chapter is exactly right. Especially the enormous, quiet woodworker on the other side of the wall, who looks at her like she’s something he’s been trying not to want.
Harry makes furniture that lasts centuries with hands he barely trusts anymore. Six-foot-six, built like something that shouldn’t exist in polite society, and completely, deliberately alone—ever since the woman who told him she’d been flinching for a year. He doesn’t date. He won’t touch her. He is very good at this.
Then Birdie presses his hand around her waist at nine o’clock on a Tuesday night. His fingers almost meet at her spine. She looks up at him and says: “You won’t break me. But even if you did — Harry, I’m asking you to.”
He’s been saying no for four months. He’s completely, devastatingly out of time.
Carry the Weight
He hasn’t touched anyone in four years. She’s done waiting.
Wren Chu has spent six months watching Elias Drummond hold premature babies like they’re made of glass. Six months of Tuesday and Thursday volunteer shifts. Six months of watching the biggest man she’s ever seen fold himself into a rocking chair and talk to two-pound infants in a voice that makes the whole NICU go quiet.
She’s done watching through the glass.
Elias is six-five, two-eighty, and hasn’t let himself near anyone since a career-ending injury taught him what his hands can do. He’s gentle with fragile things. Careful with everything. Convinced that his size is a warning label.
Wren doesn’t read warning labels.
When she corners him in a supply closet and tells him she’s watched him hold a two-pound baby without shaking—and she’s asking him to hold her—the careful man she’s been studying for six months finally stops being careful.
He’s thorough. Patient. Relentless. And he keeps count.
She breaks the bed. He builds her a new one. She breaks him open. He was never going to recover.
Built for This
She asked him to stop being careful. He stopped.
Sunny Hopeland built her bakery from nothing, and she needs it to stay exactly that—proof. Proof her mother’s patient doubt was wrong. Proof her ex’s twelve-word opinion that she was too much to handle was wrong. She has the display cases, the full order book, the custom commission. She just needs the shelving from the forge at the end of the block.
Colt Marsh is six-foot-four with twenty years of ironwork in his hands and a gate he leaves unlocked during business hours. He’s been careful his whole adult life—about how much space he takes up, how much force he uses, how much of himself he lets show. Sunny walks in with specs to three decimal points and says what she’s been thinking since she walked through the open gate: How do you make something so delicate with hands that size? He tells her: Practice. Being very careful. She looks right at him and says: Stop.
He stops. The gate is open. The festival is two blocks away. Sound carries. But Colt isn’t here just for the noise—he’s here for the version of her that comes out when she lets her walls down. The one she’s been told is too much.
She’s not too much.
She’s exactly right.
Gentle Enough
She asked him to be very careful with her. That was her first mistake.
Clementine’s library has a policy: handle with care. She applies it to rare books, fragile patrons, and herself. Two years since her last relationship ended with you’re too intense and she has gotten very good at careful.
Then Ryker walks in.
Six-foot-five, 260 pounds, the most precise man she has ever encountered — the way he moves around her shelving cart, the way he hands back the library card, the way he seems to know the exact amount of space she needs. She doesn’t know what to do with that. She asks him, carefully, to be gentle.
He pins her wrists above her head and tells her she’s going to have to earn it.
The deal is three times. She doesn’t get to finish until three. He wants her to understand what those hands are built for.
Her ex told her she was too much. Ryker is starting to think she never asked for enough.
Gentle Enough is a size-difference romance with restraint kink, edging, and a giant who’s discovered exactly what his hands were made for. Standalone with full HEA.
Wrong Size
Her ex used her competence against her. Bear apologizes to barstools. She’s done dating careful men.
Sara Packer is a third-degree judo black belt who could drop most men without thinking about it. She didn’t drop Connor. She knew what he was doing and let him keep doing it anyway, because stopping him would’ve meant being the person who hurt someone. She’s been very careful about who she lets close since.
The man at the bar bumps a barstool on his way to the counter. He catches it. Steadies it. Apologizes to it.
She sets down her drink.
Bear Cole has broken refrigerators, truck beds, and one relationship by being a size that doesn’t belong in ordinary rooms. He moves through everything—bars, job sites, his own apartment—with the slow care of someone who doesn’t trust himself around breakable things. He sits down next to Sara and they talk for an hour and she thinks, for the first time in three years: I want to see what that looks like when he stops.
Her ex shows up at the dojo on a Wednesday. Bear happens to be in the doorway with a box of resistance bands.
Connor leaves.
Bear doesn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t ask.
Friday she cooks dinner. By Friday night he’s carrying her to the bedroom, turning sideways to get them both through the door. She asked him to stop being careful. He listened.
There’s a crack in her headboard now. She’s keeping it.
All That Restraint
He grabbed a woman’s arm once, years ago — just to steady her, just a startle. It left a bruise. She said she was fine. He never forgave himself, and he’s spent every day since holding back like his own hands are the dangerous thing in the room.
Now I’m stranded on his ranch. Flash flood, washed-out road, my broken engagement two weeks behind me, and me stuck in a stranger’s kitchen on my own family’s land — thinking about Holt’s hands far more than a recently-dumped woman should.
I found the book on his shelf on day two. Battered, dog-eared, very honest about everything he wants and won’t let himself take. He doesn’t know I found it.
My ex never once left a mark on me. He thought that made him a good man. I’ve asked Holt three times now, and three times he’s stopped to make sure I mean it.
I mean it.
All That Restraint is a size-difference romance with a gentle giant who’s been punishing himself for years and a city girl who knows exactly what she wants instead. Forced proximity, marks worn like a claim, and a pregnancy HEA.
Kinks and tropes: Size difference • Consensual rough sex • Marks as claiming • Forced proximity • Stranded / forced proximity • Ranch setting • She initiates • Breeding dialogue • Pregnancy HEA
Made to Fit
She was returning her ex’s things. She did not expect his brother to answer the door.
Beckett Cole is 6’6” and has been quietly furious on Coralie Delacroix’s behalf for eighteen months. He heard every complaint his brother made — she wants too much, she expects too much — and he held his opinion until it mattered.
It matters now. She’s standing at his door with a box of Connor’s things, chin up, eyes red-rimmed, not asking for a single thing.
He opens the door wider. He asks if she’s eaten. She says yes before she means to.
Connor had her for two years and didn’t once deserve her. Beckett has been paying attention since the moment she walked into a family dinner. He is very large, very still, and very, very interested in showing her exactly what she’s been missing.
Forbidden contemporary romance. His brother’s ex. A size difference she is not prepared for. No love lost for the ex.
Big Ask
She came to drop off her ex’s things. She expected an empty apartment.
Garrett Birmingham answered the door. Silver-templed, mid-forties, an architect with a stillness that makes every room feel designed around him — and a look on his face like he’s been expecting her for a while and has a lot of thoughts about the timing.
Meadow Washington has not been thinking about Dylan’s father. She’s been doing this successfully, once a week, for two years. She’s very good at it.
Garrett has not been doing the same.
He remembers the first family dinner where he asked her a question and actually listened to the answer. He remembers the exact moment she stopped looking at Dylan like he was enough. He’s held his opinion about all of it for two years.
The opinion no longer needs holding.
What she doesn’t expect is a man twenty-two years older who has never once had to guess what a woman needs — who tells her exactly what to do in that low, certain voice and means every single word of it. He’s twice her size and twice her age, and he takes his time. Turns out the thing she’d been missing all along had a name. She just had to be brave enough to say it out loud.
A steamy age-gap romance: her ex’s father, a silver-fox architect hero, a twenty-two-year gap, full Daddy kink, size difference, a “will it fit” that takes its time, breeding, and a guaranteed happily ever after. Gentle Giants Book 8 — fully standalone, no cliffhanger.
Rough Hands
He can crack stone with his bare hands. He takes his time with me.
He’s six-foot-six. I barely clear five feet.
His hands can split stone. They can also take me apart one slow inch at a time, and I have the bruises to prove he’s very good at it.
I’m the curator who cried over one of his sculptures. Alone, in a storage room, over a piece that isn’t for sale and never will be. I’ve never told anyone.
Dorian Vance is the artist who noticed.
The first time I’m alone in his studio he stands behind me to show me how to work the clay, and my hands disappear inside his, and so does every sensible thought I have ever had. He’s twice my size in every direction. He’s spent his whole life being careful with a world that isn’t built for him.
I don’t want him careful.
I want to know what happens when a man who makes things for a living stops holding back — and it turns out what happens is the storage room of my own gallery, forty people drinking champagne one floor below us, catalogues all over the floor, and me finding out exactly how much of him I can take.
Turns out: all of it.
Then he shows me what he’s been making in secret. It’s small enough to sit in his palm. It has my stance and the lift of my chin and no face at all — because my face, he says, wasn’t the part he was trying to understand.
He calls it Still Here.
A quiet giant who won’t rush anything, a tiny curator with a sharp mouth, and a size difference that neither of them can stop thinking about. Ends with a bronze in the window and a baby on the way. He’s enormous. He’s careful. And he is completely, quietly hers.
Still Waters
He’s been careful with his size his whole life. She wants him to stop.
For months I’ve been Wells Stone’s sign language interpreter. I stand in his meetings and sign every word, and he has never once looked at my face.
He’s six-foot-five, he’s been deaf since he was eighteen, and he reads people better than anyone I’ve ever interpreted for. If he looks at me, he’ll see how badly I want him.
So one day I sit where he can’t avoid my face, and he finally looks.
That afternoon I quit as his interpreter, so he isn’t my client anymore. That evening I’m sitting on his front steps when he gets home.
Wells broke a man’s collarbone once, and he’s been careful with his size ever since, especially around women. I want him to stop being careful with me.
He bought me a step stool before he’d ever kissed me, because he saw me stretch for a shelf and never said a word about it.
He can’t hear a word I say, and he still understands me better than anyone who can.
A size-difference romance with a Deaf hero, an interpreter heroine, and signs they make up just for each other. Standalone with a happy ending.
Iron Hands
For five months I’ve sat across a desk from Rome Vasquez and watched him keep his hands flat on the wood.
He’s six-four and inked to the knuckles. He did a few years for stealing cars when he was young, and now he fixes them for a living and teaches the neighborhood kids to box. I’m five-foot-one, and I’m the social worker on his case, which makes him the one man in this city I’m not allowed to want.
I want him anyway.
My ex gave me everything the second I asked, and it never felt like enough. Rome makes me ask. He makes me say it out loud and wait. He takes me right to the edge and stops, and he doesn’t let me come until I’ve asked him properly.
I hand his case to a colleague that afternoon, so I’m not his social worker anymore.
That evening I’m sitting on his front steps.
A size-difference romance with an enormous, careful hero, edging and orgasm denial, praise, and a heroine who finally gets to stop being in charge. Standalone with a happy ending.