Not So Tiny Tim

Avoiding the future…

Video game mogul, philanthropist and heir to the Knight empire, Tim Crichton has three F-zones—the friend zone, the family zone, and the, er… fun-buddy zone. No crossover is allowed because it might create a fourth—the forever zone—and Tim knows forever just isn’t in the cards for him.

Miranda Girard has always known she and Tim were meant to be together, but when she got tired of waiting and made a move, he rejected her. Now it’s time for their Christmas reunion dinner and she’s damn well going to put on a happy face and attend—after she stops at the bar for a little liquid courage.

Peter Vaughn can’t wait for his new house to be finished so he can move out of Tim’s apartment—living with a man he wants and can’t have gets old quick. But work on the house has ground to a halt and he’s stuck there until after the new year.

It all seems hopeless until a jolly old doorman nudges Peter and Miranda together, and a little Christmas magic quickly escalates to a scorching holiday encounter that will either rescue Tim from a lonely future…or cost him the two most important people in his life.

Reader Advisory: Contains 30% more cheese and 20% less kink than your usual Robin L. Rotham fare. (It’s Christmas, people!) Also contains ménage, m/m, mild BDSM elements, four ice-skates, three lovebirds, two black towers, and a doorman with a plan.



» Tame Excerpt «

Tim swirled the swizzle stick in his third Scotch and water, wishing tonight would just hurry up and end already. He’d danced with Alyssa when they first got here a couple of hours ago, but his mind had been a million miles away.

Or more accurately, a dozen miles away, at Millennium Park.

He scowled. Of course they’d go ice-skating—they were both skaters, both a little old-fashioned in some ways. Both romantics to the bone. He probably should have seen this coming a long time ago. Maybe he had. Maybe that was why he’d kept them in their own little friend zones, balanced against each other as far apart as he could get them. If he couldn’t have either of them, why should they have each other?

God, if that was true, he was truly pathetic.

But they’d managed to get together in spite of him, and totally trashed his equilibrium in the process. They were a couple now and something told him they’d stay together.

Both of them were different tonight—Miranda had seemed tense when he met her at the door, but when Pete arrived, she’d melted into his masterful embrace like milk chocolate in a fondue pot. Or like a sub finally safe in the arms of her Dom. Dammit. They were a match made in kink heaven, even if Miranda didn’t know it yet. Pete clearly did—he’d slurped her right up.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Tank shouted over the music as he stopped at their table long enough to take a swig of his warm beer.

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Tim said, pushing his drink far, far away. “Tired, probably.”


“Says you.”

Tank turned the chair next to Tim around and straddled it, folding his thick forearms over the back. “Damn right says me. You’re pissed about Pete stealing your girl.”

Bzzzzt. Wrong answer.”

“Okay, then you’re pissed about Miranda stealing your guy.”

“Fuck you,” Tim said without much heat. He was bi and out and generally didn’t give a damn what most people thought of him, but his relationship with Pete was something he didn’t want to talk about.

“You think I’m blind, asswipe? There’s been something between you and Miranda since forever. We all saw it, and we all thought eventually you’d pull your head out of your bunghole and marry the girl.”

“Fuck you,” Tim repeated, almost meaning it this time.

“But then there was something between you and Pete,” Tank blathered on, “and I thought, well shit, who saw that coming? What’s poor Miranda gonna do without Tim?”

Dammit, Tank knew him too well. “Let it go, dude.”

“But wait, it’s not Miranda getting left behind—it’s Tim. What’s poor Tim gonna do without either of them?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tank,” Tim snapped, feeling dangerously near the end of his tether. “Now, before I leave you behind.”

Tank snorted. “Like I’d care. You don’t let anyone get close enough to care.”

That was it. Time to get the fuck out of here before he said something he’d regret. He didn’t want to lose Tank too.

His chair scraped over the linoleum tiles as he stood up. “I’ll just take my date and go. Have fun.”

Tank stood too. “Hate to tell you this, dude, but your date’s having way more fun with us.”

He nodded toward the dance floor, and sure enough, there was Alyssa, making out with Rhonda in freeze frame in the middle of the strobe-lit crowd.

Well hell. So much for working off his aggression.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Tank added with a shit-eating grin.

Grinding his teeth, Tim got out his wallet and tossed a wad of cash on the table, then pulled on his jacket. “No thanks. She’s all yours.”

When he turned to leave, Tank laid a hand on his arm. “Tim, man, you know I lied about not caring. I wouldn’t say this stuff to you if I didn’t care. You’re surrounded by people who care about you and you need to stop pushing them away before it’s too late.”

Tim shrugged him off. “Whatever.”

Out on the street, he climbed into a waiting cab.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

“Dickens Towers.” He was going home and going to bed. He’d had enough of this shit day.

» Not So Tame Excerpt «

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” he groaned, sliding his hands into her hair as he took deep, shaky breaths.

Thrilled by the way his cock seemed to thicken in her mouth, she swirled her tongue over it, following the ridge all the way around and up into the hollow on the underside. It didn’t feel anything like the fake ones she’d practiced on, and oh, what a difference! Hot, smooth, paper-thin flesh barely concealed the vibrant physiology inside. With her tongue, she could feel his veins along the surface, and underneath, the unyielding columns that seemed to grow even harder as she explored him. It was nothing short of miraculous.

And the scent of him… God, she’d never be able to put one of those silicone toys in her mouth again after experiencing this. She inhaled deeply, savoring the bouquet of warm denim, soap and man, memorizing it for future fantasies.

Curious beyond reason, she pushed her tongue into the opening at the tip and tasted something silky and musky, something that made her heart pound and her mouth water.

He gasped and pushed her head down a little. “Miranda, suck. Please.”

She thought about the honey bear on the table and decided to leave it there. She liked the taste of Peter all by himself.

Taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, she sucked, milking him with her tongue, and watched as the sac holding his balls drew up tighter. Fascinated, she stroked it with a finger. It felt completely different from the flesh in her mouth, a little rough and a little hairy except for a smooth, silken patch underneath.

Peter’s breathing grew rough, every exhale almost a moan. Though his hands tightened in her hair, he said, “You might want to stop.”

She pulled away and shook her head, breathing almost as hard as he was. “I want to taste it.”

“You want me to come?” he asked tightly.

“Yes. Tell me what you like.

“I can do that.” He blew out a breath. “Get me nice and wet with your mouth.”

Giving him a little smile, she said, “I can do that.”

When she leaned down again, he put his hand on her thigh. “Wait. Take off the dress first. I want to see you.”

Miranda flushed but obeyed, reaching behind her neck with both hands to lower the zipper. When it was between her shoulder blades, she reached up behind her with her left hand to bring it down to her hips and then shrugged out of the bodice. The sheer white balconet bra and thong set she’d worn tonight, just to bolster her courage and make her feel ultra-feminine, had been insanely expensive, but the look on Peter’s face as she shimmied out of her dress made it worth every penny.

“Thank you, Frosty,” he murmured, wrapping the fingers of one hand around her neck before dragging them slowly down her sternum and stomach.


Peter nodded, sliding his hand around to rub her bare bottom. “Frosty the doorman gave me an angel for Christmas.”

“Oh he did?” she asked with a quizzical smile.

“He did. Now, where were we?”

“Right about here, I think.” She opened her mouth over him once again, working up as much moisture as she could and painting it onto his rigid flesh with her lips and tongue.

“Mmmm, that’s very nice,” he said, rubbing her hip. “Now stroke it, slow and hard. Milk it.”

Miranda bit her lip. God, this was so hot. Were men this turned on when women told them what to do?

Holding his eyes, she licked her hand provocatively.

“Asking for trouble, little girl,” he murmured, his lips curving lazily.

“Yes, I am,” she murmured back, meaning every word of it.

“Then you’ve found your man.” He took her hand and wrapped it around his slick shaft. Covering it with his own, he squeezed hard and dragged her palm up the thick length, twisting it over the head before dragging it back down to the base. He did it again, and then again. Then he folded one arm under his head and stroked her hip with the other while she flew solo.

As she performed, she watched Peter watch her hand. His mouth was slightly open, his eyelids at half-mast, and as he began to pant, color rose in his cheeks.

“Speed up a little,” he told her roughly. When she did, he pulled his arm out from under his head with a groan, gripped the top edge of the ottoman with both hands and began thrusting into her strokes. God, he looked magnificent, almost animalistic as he arched upward with his jeans around his thighs.

“Fuck, yes, that’s good.”

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” she breathed.

His eyes flashed open. “Miranda, suck,” he ground out. “Now.”

She leaned over without hesitating and sucked hard while he fucked her mouth. The way he held her head firmly in place made her nipples draw up tight and stirred the embers of desire between her legs into a blazing inferno. Within a minute, his legs began to shake and his thrusts grew shallow, and then he growled low and long.

“Get ready, angel,” he warned. “I’m going to come just…about…oh fuck…now.”

Miranda trembled with excitement when he pulled her head back until just the tip of him was still in her mouth. His whole body jerked as streams of hot, wet musk landed on her tongue in time with contractions she could feel with her lips. Her first instinct was to swallow, but she waited. When his hands relaxed on her head, she released him and sat up, rubbing his semen between her tongue and the roof of her mouth while she watched his cock, which didn’t go down as fast as she thought it would.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked between deep breaths.

She swallowed. “Not what I expected. It reminds me of oysters.”

He started laughing. “Dear Diary, performed BJ today. It tasted like oysters. Love, Miranda.” When she laughed too, he said, “You can chase it with some honey if you like. I won’t be offended.”

She shook her head, licking her lips and savoring the taste. “I’m good.”

“You are.” He pulled her down on top of him and kissed her silly, swiping his tongue all over the inside of her mouth as if he found the taste of his semen as enthralling as she did. Then he rolled them to their sides.

“So what else haven’t you tried? Have you ever been on the receiving end?” he asked, deftly unfastening her bra and drawing the strap down her arm.

She stiffened. “Um, I don’t think that’s—”

“Okay, so that would be no.” He rolled over on top of her and sat up, tossing her bra onto the couch behind him as he straddled her hips. Miranda couldn’t take her eyes off his cock, which still spilled out of his open jeans, its wet head resting on her abdomen. The casual intimacy of that sticky contact between them made her heart race and body heat.

“Beautiful little tits,” he murmured, cupping them with his hands and rubbing his thumbs gently over the hard points of her nipples.

Miranda moaned, unable to stop the slow roll of her hips in response.

“How daring are you, Miranda Girard?” Peter asked, with a challenging look.

Her breath caught in her throat. “How daring do you want me to be?”