Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 393: Mira’s Curiosity Ignites

The fire had settled into a steady, comforting crackle, its golden glow painting shifting shadows across the grass and the faces of everyone huddled near it. We’d been sitting in companionable—if heavy—silence for a while, the night pressing in around us like a thick blanket.

Then it came: a low, unmistakable gurgling rumble from Mira’s stomach. It cut through the quiet like an unwelcome guest.

Mira’s hands flew to her midsection, pressing hard as if she could silence it by sheer willpower. Her cheeks flushed deeper than the firelight could account for—fresh embarrassment blooming across her features.

She ducked her head, dark hair falling forward like a curtain.

I caught her eye and let a small, easy smile curve my lips. No judgment. Just warmth.

"Hungry?" I asked softly.

She nodded once, tiny and reluctant, not meeting my gaze.

"I’ll get you something to eat." I leaned closer, voice dropping to that intimate register she responded to best. "Tell me what you want. Anything. Pretend you’re back home—safe, comfortable. What would you order for takeout right now? No limits. Just wish."

Mira hesitated, chewing her lower lip. The fire popped, sending a spark spiraling upward. She exhaled slowly, as if allowing herself the small indulgence.

"I’d usually order... pizza. Something loaded—extra cheese, maybe pepperoni. And a cold beer. The kind that’s so chilled it hurts your teeth at first."

I nodded, holding her gaze. "Perfect. Close your eyes."

She blinked at me, confusion flickering. "What?"

"Close them. And no peeking. Not even a little."

Mira huffed a small, incredulous laugh. "I’m not a child. What are you trying to do?"

I tilted my head, letting just a hint of command slip into my tone—the one that always made her soften. "Just listen to me, Mira. Trust me for one minute."

She studied my face for a long beat, then—almost childlike—squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her lashes trembled slightly against her cheeks.

Angela smirked from her spot across the fire, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. Lisa watched quietly, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

I bought the pizza and beer from the Supermarket Store. In an instant, the impossible appeared: a large, steaming pizza box balanced in one palm, cardboard warm from the heat of a phantom oven.

Beside it, two frosted bottles of beer, condensation already beading on the glass, so cold they fogged the air around them.

The rich, unmistakable aroma rolled out—molten cheese, tangy tomato sauce, crisped pepperoni, a whisper of oregano and garlic. It mingled with the woodsmoke, turning the glade into something almost domestic, almost magical.

I returned to the fire’s edge and set everything down on a flat stone we’d dragged over earlier.

"Open your eyes."

Mira’s lids fluttered open. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then her gaze locked on the pizza—cheese still bubbling, strings stretching as the top slice shifted slightly—and the two glistening bottles beside it.

Angela and Lisa chimed in unison, voices bright and theatrical: "Surprise!"

Mira’s mouth fell open. She stared, unblinking, then looked wildly around—at my empty hands moments ago, at the lack of any bag or cooler, at the impossible reality in front of her.

"How...?" The word came out breathless. "How is this possible? Where were you carrying it this whole time?" Her voice rose, half to me, half to herself. "You didn’t have anything on you! Nothing! We were running—your pockets were empty—I would’ve seen—"

She reached out tentatively, fingertips hovering over the box as if it might vanish. Steam curled upward, carrying that intoxicating scent straight to her.

Angela chuckled low, rich with amusement. She leaned in toward Mira, eyes sparkling. "Tell me—my husband is amazing, isn’t he?"

Mira’s head snapped toward her, then back to me, eyes wide and shining with a mix of disbelief, wonder, and something softer—gratitude, maybe even awe.

I shrugged one shoulder, casual, letting the mystery hang deliciously in the air. "I’m a magician," I said simply. "Just a small trick. Nothing worth overthinking."

But inside, satisfaction uncoiled like smoke. The look on her face—the way her embarrassment had melted into stunned delight, the way she now stared at me like I’d pulled stars from the sky—was exactly what I wanted. Another thread pulled tight. Another crack in the wall between her old life and this one.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, with the fire dancing and the night wrapping around us, I could give her anything. Safety. Comfort. Pleasure. Escape.

And every impossible gift made her lean a little closer. Made her depend a little more.

Made her mine.

I flipped open the pizza box fully, releasing another wave of heat and aroma, then twisted the caps off the beers with a soft hiss. Frost kissed the glass.

"Dig in," I murmured, handing her a slice first—cheese stretching in long, golden threads. "Before it gets cold."

Mira took the slice with trembling fingers, the cheese stretching in long, golden threads that snapped and reformed as she lifted it. Steam curled upward, carrying waves of rich tomato, melted mozzarella, and crisped pepperoni straight to her nose. She brought it to her lips—and hesitated for half a second, eyes widening at the heat radiating off it.

"It’s so hot..." she murmured in pure astonishment, voice soft with wonder.

Then hunger overtook caution. She took a big, eager bite, cheese pulling apart in gooey strings that clung to her chin. She barely paused to breathe—devouring the slice with single-minded focus, sauce smearing the corner of her mouth, not sparing a glance for the rest of us watching in amused silence. The fire crackled approval beside her.

One slice vanished. Then another. By the time she’d polished off an entire personal-sized pizza by herself—crust and all—she finally looked up. Our eyes met hers. A deep blush flooded her cheeks, brighter than the handprint had ever been.

We all chuckled—low, warm, affectionate. Even Lisa cracked a rare smile.

Mira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, suddenly self-conscious again. "I... I didn’t mean to eat like a starving animal," she mumbled, ducking her head.

"You looked happy," I said simply. "That’s all that matters."

She met my gaze for a beat, then glanced at the empty box and the half-drunk beers. Curiosity reignited, sharper now.

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward slightly. "How did you do it? Really. No more ’magician’ dodging."

I tilted my head, letting a teasing glint spark in my eyes. "Do you really wanna know?"

Mira nodded eagerly, dark hair falling over one shoulder. "Yes. Please."

I leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "There’s only one way to find out the secret." A slow, playful smile spread across my face. "Only my wife can know it."

Mira’s mouth fell open in mock outrage. "You... you’re still bullying me!"

She turned to Angela, eyes wide and pleading in that endearing, exaggerated way. "Sister, look—your husband is bullying me again!"

Angela let out a rich, throaty chuckle that danced over the fire’s crackle. She rose gracefully, hips swaying as she crossed the short distance to me. Without a word, she slid onto my lap sideways, looping her arms around my neck in a loose, possessive embrace.

"Husband," she purred, nuzzling close enough that her breath warmed my ear, "I’m sleepy... and stop bullying poor Mira. She’s had a long night."