Hi, you have just arrived at my blogsite. I'm Artemis Hunt, author, harried employee, long-suffering wife, multi-tasker, Pomeranian lover, stepmother to two grown-up stepkids. I'm going to blog about subjects I feel passionately about. Please browse, and maybe you'll find something you feel passionately about too. For darker adult stories, I write under the name of A.R. Hunt. For straight erotica and erotic romances with mild BDSM (a la Fifty Shades), I write under the name of multiple Amazon and Barnes and Noble bestselling erotica author, Aphrodite Hunt.

The Pretend Boyfriend 4


Brian Morton is in serious trouble. The woman who accused him of rape, Delilah Faulkner, has offered to cut him a ‘deal’. She will drop all charges against his ‘pretend’ girlfriend, Sam, if he agrees to have sex with her. Repeatedly. Right up till his trial.

The cornered Brian hesitantly agrees. After all, he is willing to do anything for Sam. But one thing leads to another, and soon, Delilah wants a whole lot more than he is willing to give. 

Meanwhile, Sam mistakenly thinks that Brian has taken up with Delilah. Blindsided with jealousy, she falls into the arms of her hunky gym employee. 

With the trial looming up, can Brian and Sam save themselves in time?

THE PRETEND BOYFRIEND 4, a 24,000-word erotic romance short novel, is the final volume in the series.


The Pretend Boyfriend 4


She says, “Take off your clothes, Brian.”


“Take off your clothes. I want you to do me right here. On the floor.”
There’s something so twisted about this that he doesn’t respond – at first. He meets her steely grey eyes, and his heart wrenches. 

Yes, I know the deal.

Hesitantly, he peels off his tee, the one he has only just put back on this morning. She scrutinizes his body as though she hasn’t seen it only the night before. He unzips his pants. 

His dick is limp. No surprises there. He doesn’t get aroused easily when he’s scared out of his fucking wits. 

But she doesn’t seem to mind. She undoes the sash of her bathrobe. She wears nothing underneath, and he takes in her nipples and mounds and pubic triangle, as dark as he remembered it from college. He feels a stir in his cock despite himself. 

“Lick me,” she commands.

He makes himself walk towards her. She stands, resolute, and he understands what she wants him to do. It’s a role reversal, and he is her slave. He gets down on his knees, a position he is not used to. She parts her legs slightly, and he sticks out his tongue to lick her pussy. He inhales the earthy aroma of her nether regions as he strokes the tip of her clit with his tongue. 

He does not look up, but he can hear her sharp intake of breath as he continues to lave her – circumnavigating his tongue in between her pussy grooves, which are already filled with a layer of cud. 

He’s gratified to hear her moan above him. It means that he still retains a modicum of power over her. Only their situation is so fucked up. She wants him to do it to her in this strange room – her manifold shrine to his larger-than-life image. 

All his eyes in those photos, watching them. Like peacock tail eyes.
It’s beyond sick.

“I loved you back then,” she whispers. “Even though I knew you didn’t love me.”

He doesn’t reply, even though his guilty heart is slamming against his ribs and his pulse is pounding as though it would like to surge out of his arteries. 

What about now? he wonders. Do you still love me? Do you love me so much that you want to destroy me? 

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