The OMG! Hot under the Duvet series, Vol.1. 5 highly erotic short stories

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And just to add more fuel, yesterday, the woman had invited a clueless Bronte to lunch at Ludlow Hall. Last thing she was telling Nico as I left was that she was going to stay with her father. He shot Sophia a wink as he shrugged out of his coat, took off his suit jacket, his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Tonio narrowed his eyes as he watched his uncle fight to catch his breath and his aunt laugh so hard she cried real tears.

Later, when everyone had finished their spaghetti and meatballs, and were taking a rest before pudding, Luca turned to eye Sophia across the table. But part two of this short story is coming next week! She wore skinny blue jeans and a ribbed over-sized sweater of ivory cotton. Her hair was tied in a loose plait that fell down her back. Bronte, dressed in chocolate brown yoga pants, a matching hoodie over a striped T-shirt and her blonde hair tied in a high tail, shook her head. She cuddled a dozing and rosy-cheeked Eve close.

Teething was not fun.

The Hot Shot

Mother and daughter wore soft denim jeans and bright pink hoodies. We made plenty of noise when we watched Magic Mike Two. So the pair of them are pretending to be rock stars. I used to sing into the hairdryer, and you sang into your hairbrush. I think all we need to do is practice. Sophia rubbed her chin. He whistles a lot though.

He could be a huge, huge star—if only he could sing. So the girls made their way downstairs, along a narrow hallway, turned a corner, and entered—the man cave. Her papa, her uncle Alexander and uncle Josh, AND Luca and Tonio, were all flushed and wild-eyed, and there was a lot of pushey-shovey going on. Tonio jumped up and down like a lunatic, his socked feet crunching a bag of potato chips, cheese and onion by the stink, into crumbs that spilled all over an expensive Chinese rug.

Now Sophia also knew that her best pal Emily had a deep seated aversion to raised voices and too much noise—it had something to do with a small flaw with her hearing. They have reverted back, in millennia in human evolution, to knuckle-draggers. Sophia shrugged.

Bronte, Rosie and Janine listened with deadly serious faces, their mouths tight, to the many sins of their men as listed by Sophia, and a very quiet and pale Emily. Honestly, Bronte thought, what on earth was Nico thinking scaring Emily like that? The child was like a delicate little flower, all big violet eyes, a soft voice and riot of short red curls atop a creamy complexion kissed by a constellation of freckles.

What on earth would her mother, Grace, say? In fact, how embarrassing was this? Now she narrowed her eyes as Sophia, her arms folded and her hip cocked, came to the end of her story. But just as she was about to head out the door, the sound of men and boys making their way toward the kitchen assailed their ears.

Nico Ferranti just loved Saturdays when live soccer from the Serie A and Legs of the European cup played on the sports channels. As a bonus, the boys not only had the time of their lives, but male bonding time, which was important and could only be good for them. Ah, he was a lucky man. By this time Alexander and Joshua had received the message that all was not well with their women.

Nico sauntered over to the love of his life, took the hand with the pointy finger and kissed the fingertip. What happens in the man-cave stays in the man-cave.


She poked him in his flat belly, and tipped back her head to stare into those twinkling green eyes. His shoulder gently nudged hers. Luca went nose to nose with a narrow-eyed Sophia. Boys bathe in shark-infested waters. Then her face went so fierce poor Emily sucked in a breath and her hand clutched her throat.

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Emily and Sophia, both wearing white aprons over their leggings and hoodies, stared critically at their handiwork. Two-year-old Eve, sucking on a jelly bean, sat happily on a huge bean bag cushion with Jimmy Chew on her lap. She wore navy colored tights beneath a smocked dress of pale soft denim edged with a denim frill. Tied in her glossy curls the color of jet were a wide and varied selection of skinny ribbons.

Her black eyeliner had been applied by a wonky hand, as had the fuchsia lipstick on her little mouth. She had lipstick on her teeth, too. Her blonde hair was caught up in a high tail with a hair tie and a variety of ribbons, which fell over her shoulder.

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She blinked lashes that had congealed into black mascara clumps, and considered the child. She looks like a little clown. Sophia made a face, thought about it. What we need is something more natural, something that would give her a natural tint, like a little hint of the sun for example.

The OMG! Hot under the Duvet series, Vol.1. 5 highly erotic short stories

Emily craned her neck to look out the window and the three foot deep snowdrift that the beast from the East had dumped on the whole of the United Kingdom this week. What about the new fake tan stuff that auntie Rosie gave to mamma? This looks good. She put a tiny drop the color of dark chocolate on the back of her hand and rubbed, then checked her fingers.

Okay, Evie? Sophia and Emily, now dressed in their underwear, used soap-laden sponges to desperately scrub their arms, legs and faces. Their skin had turned a dark brown color. Meanwhile, Sophia rummaged in the cupboards built beneath the sinks and came up with a blue bottle of bleach. Emily, who by this time, reckoned they were in Big, Big Trouble, read as much as she could of the label. In the middle of a growth spurt, he was long and lean, with movie star tousled dark hair, olive skin and dreamy dark eyes.

Dark eyes that now went wide. Dressed in navy sweatpants and his favorite Spiderman sweatshirt, faded from too many washes, he took in the scene and headed down the hall. All that could be heard were his bare feet thundering down the stairs. At the sound of Bronte coming up the stairs and calling for Sophia and Emily, both girls simply clutched each other. Bronte, wearing black leggings, thick socks and a huge woollen sweater over a white thermal, entered the family bathroom and stopped dead. Nico Ferranti, dressed for Arctic conditions in heavy boots and a Canadian parka, strolled through the door of The Dower House.

The weather bomb had caused chaos for three long days. It had been one disaster after another.

Thankfully, his staff had gone above and beyond. But Christ, the cold had frozen his bones right down to the marrow. Then he lifted his chin and sniffed the air like a starving wolf.

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He smelled his favorite red sauce, garlic and basil, and meatballs. He toed out of his boots, hung up his parka, and opened the door into the family-dining-kitchen room. Nico shook his head, went to wash his hands at the sink, then he helped himself to a warm pasta plate and helped himself.

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    And talking of children… Six year old Sophia rules the roost with a determination, which will not be denied. Not long now! Hello, my darlings! He is most displeased.