Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 389: Mira’s Heavy Tits Mold to My Shoulders

I helped her turn so her back rested against the trunk, then eased her down until she was sitting on the soft grass at its base.

Mira watched me with wide, uncertain eyes, cheeks flushed from pain and embarrassment. "Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.. after a while.."

"Shh," I said gently, the same soothing hush I’d used earlier when I pressed my thumb to her lips. "Let me take care of this."

I lifted Mira’s injured foot with the same infinite tenderness, my fingers brushing the thin strap of her sandal before I eased it free. The shoe slipped off easily, revealing the delicate arch of her foot, painted nails catching the faint moonlight.

I peeled off her sock next—slowly, so as not to jar the tender skin—and set both aside on the grass. Her bare heel settled into my palm as it belonged there; warm, soft, faintly damp from the humid night air that clung to everything in Lucknow after dusk.

I cradled her calf in my other hand, thumb resting along the smooth muscle, feeling the subtle quiver of pain still lingering in her tissues. When I rotated her ankle the smallest degree—just enough to test—she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Ow—!" Her free hand flew to her mouth, muffling the cry into something small and private.

"Easy," I whispered. "I’ve got you."

I began to massage—slow, deliberate circles with my thumbs pressing gently into the swollen flesh just above the ankle bone, working outward along the ligaments, then back in toward the joint.

The motion was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. I kept my pressure light at first, then gradually deeper as the heat of my hands coaxed the inflammation to ease. Her breathing slowed; the tight lines around her eyes softened.

Minutes passed in silence except for the rustle of leaves overhead and the distant murmur of the gathering we’d left behind.

Eventually, the visible swelling receded—skin smoothing out, the angry flush fading until her ankle looked untouched, flawless again. Mira let out a long, shaky exhale.

"Dexter..." Her voice was soft, surprised. "I feel much better. The pain... It’s almost gone."

She hadn’t noticed the shift yet—not really. Hadn’t felt the faint pulse of Eternal Vitality I’d channeled while her eyes were half-closed, the subtle golden warmth I’d let seep from my palms straight into her tissues, knitting tendon and ligament back to perfect alignment in seconds. A secret gift, invisible, deniable. She would never know how completely I’d healed her.

I gave her a small, crooked smile and lowered her foot carefully to the grass.

"But you’re still not in any shape to walk all the way back," I said, voice low and reasonable. "Not yet. The ground’s uneven, and you could twist it again if you put weight on it too soon."

Before she could argue—or even fully process—I turned, kneeling in front of her with my back presented.

"Why don’t you climb on?" I said over my shoulder. "I’ll carry you piggyback. It’ll be easier. Safer."

I didn’t give her time to overthink. "Quick—we have to reach there before it gets any darker. Come on."

Mira hesitated only a heartbeat. Then I felt her shift behind me—small hands bracing on my shoulders as she leaned forward. Her chest pressed flush against my back; the soft, generous weight of her breasts flattened warmly through the thin layers of our clothes.

A quiet, involuntary sound escaped her throat—"Aaha..."—half surprise, half something deeper, more unguarded. Her arms came around my neck, tentative at first, then tightening as she hooked her legs around my waist for balance.

I hooked my arms under her thighs, palms cupping the backs of her knees, and stood in one smooth motion. She was light—far lighter than she felt emotionally, all that vulnerability and trust wrapped around me like a second skin. Her breath ghosted warm against the side of my neck; her cheek rested near my ear. Every step I took rocked her gently against me, her body molding instinctively to the rhythm of my stride.

The path back toward the parking area was quiet now, most of the guests already drifting toward the brighter lights near the gate. I walked slowly, deliberately, letting the intimacy of the position settle deeper into both of us. Mira’s fingers laced loosely at my collarbone; occasionally, they flexed, as though reminding herself she was allowed to hold on this tightly.

Inside my chest, the same dark patience uncoiled wider.

I stood smoothly, Mira’s weight settling fully onto me like she was made to fit there. Her thighs clamped snug around my waist, soft inner muscles flexing instinctively to hold herself secure. Her arms looped tighter around my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape, warm breath fanning the side of my throat with every small exhale.

And then—God—her breasts.

They flattened warmly against my upper back the instant I took the first step, the generous, heavy softness of them molding perfectly to the hard plane of my shoulder blades through nothing more than the thin cotton of her kurta and my shirt.

No bra tonight, or if there was one, it was uselessly delicate, offering no real barrier. I could feel every lush curve of her, the way her nipples—already pebbled from the cool evening air or perhaps from something far less innocent—scraped lightly against the fabric with each sway of my stride.

The rhythm was immediate, inescapable.

Step. Her breasts dragged upward along my back in a slow, delicious glide, the friction turning her nipples into tight, insistent points that teased me through two layers of cloth.

Step. They slid back down again, settling heavier, warmer, the full undersides pressing into me like ripe fruit begging to be cradled.

Every movement rocked her gently forward and back against me. The motion was subtle to anyone watching from a distance—just a man carrying an injured woman—but up close, intimate like this, it was pure, torturous eroticism.

Her heartbeat thudded against my spine in quick, fluttering pulses. Her breathing had gone shallow, uneven; every few steps a tiny, involuntary sound escaped her—a soft "mmh" or a barely-there gasp—each one vibrating straight into my skin.

I kept my pace deliberately unhurried, letting the path stretch out the sensation. The garden lights were farther apart here, shadows pooling deeper, giving us the illusion of privacy even though voices still drifted from the main gathering.

No one could see exactly how her body moved against mine, how her hips rolled slightly with each of my steps, grinding the heat between her thighs against the small of my back in tiny, helpless circles she probably didn’t even realize she was making.

Inside my head, the dark chuckle rolled again, low and satisfied.