Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 242: Jennifer’s Loneliness

I felt Jennifer’s body tremble against mine, her sulking sobs muffled against my chest. ”Why...?” she whispered, her voice breaking. ”I haven’t done... anything... wrong... I...” Her words dissolved into more tears, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she was afraid of letting go.

I gently pulled her back, just enough to see her face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen, her expression raw with vulnerability. My thumb brushed away the wetness on her skin, my voice soft but firm. ”Don’t cry,” I murmured. ”It’s not worth it.”

But my words only made her cry harder, her breath hitching as fresh tears spilled over. I sighed, my hand cupping her face, my touch surprisingly tender. ”Forget about him,” I said, my voice low and steady.

”He doesn’t know how to treat you better. But from now on? I will.” My fingers traced the line of her jaw, my gaze locked onto hers. ”Okay? I’ll never let you suffer any injustice.”

Jennifer’s breath caught, her wide, tear-filled eyes staring up at me like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. ”You...?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I smirked, though this time it was softer, less taunting. ”Okay, now stop crying,” I said, my thumb wiping away another tear. ”You won’t look good if you keep crying.”

She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely more than a murmur. ”You are all bad men... only know how to bully me...”

I chuckled, my fingers gently tangling in her hair, my touch soothing as I brushed a strand away from her face. ”Maybe,” I admitted, my voice quiet. ”But I’m your bad man.” My hand slid down to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her lower lip. ”And I’ll make sure no one else gets to bully you but me.”

Jennifer’s breath hitched, her tears slowing as she stared up at me, her expression a fragile mix of confusion and something softer—something that almost looked like trust. For the first time, there was no anger in her eyes, no defiance.

Just this raw, vulnerable moment between us, something real and unguarded. But then, just as suddenly, she pulled back, her palms pressing against my chest as she shoved me away with a sharpness that caught me off guard.

”Oliver will be here... anytime,” she whispered urgently, her voice trembling, her eyes darting toward the hallway as if she expected him to materialize at any second. The fear in her voice was palpable, her body tensing as she tried to compose herself, her fingers twisting together nervously.

And then—footsteps.

Oliver stepped out of his room, freshly changed into a crisp shirt and trousers, his expression stern as his gaze flicked between Jennifer and me. The air in the room grew heavier, the tension thick enough to cut. ”Mike,” he said, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument, ”has she apologized to you? If not, I will make sure she does.”

I opened my mouth to defend her, my voice calm but insistent. ”Father-in-law, it’s really not Mother-in-law’s fault. She’s changed. She—”

Oliver cut me off with a sharp gesture, his voice hardening. ”Mike, stop,” he snapped, his tone brooking no argument. ”Don’t I know my wife?” His glare shifted to Jennifer, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer.

”You haven’t apologized yet, have you?” His voice was laced with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides as if he were barely holding back from saying more.

Jennifer didn’t even glance at him. Instead, she stepped forward, her chin lifting slightly as she met my eyes. Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide.

”Mike,” she said, her words deliberate and clear, ”I’m sorry. I apologize for behaving like that.” The words seemed to cost her something, her pride maybe, but she said them anyway.

I reached out instinctively, my hand brushing against her arm, my voice soft. ”Mother-in-law, please—it’s not your fault,” I murmured, my fingers lingering on her skin for just a second before I forced myself to pull back.

Oliver wasn’t satisfied. His jaw tightened, his voice sharp and unyielding. ”Go,” he ordered Jennifer, his tone leaving no room for argument. ”Have you prepared anything for dinner? And where is Emily? Why don’t I see her?”

Jennifer didn’t respond to him. She didn’t even look his way. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked straight into the kitchen, her back rigid, her movements stiff with barely contained frustration. I watched her go, my chest tightening before I turned back to Oliver.

”Father-in-law, today was a get-together meeting, so we all went there,” I explained, keeping my voice even. ”Emily is taking a nap. She was tired after the event.”

Oliver nodded, though his expression remained stern. He didn’t press further, just settled onto the couch with a heavy sigh, his eyes flicking toward the kitchen. I didn’t wait for him to say more. ”I’ll go see if Mother-in-law needs any help,” I said, already moving toward the kitchen.

When I stepped inside, Jennifer was standing at the counter, her back to me as she chopped vegetables with quick, sharp movements. But she was distracted—too distracted. The knife slipped, and with a sharp gasp, she cut her finger. ”Aah—!” she hissed, her voice pained as a thin line of blood immediately welled up, dripping onto the cutting board.

I was at her side in an instant, my hand closing around her wrist as I pulled her finger toward me. The sight of the blood made my stomach tighten, but I didn’t hesitate. Without thinking, I brought her finger to my lips, my tongue pressing against the cut, tasting the metallic tang of her blood as I tried to stop the bleeding.

Jennifer jerked back, her voice a shocked, breathless whisper. ”What—? What are you doing?” Her eyes were wide, her face flushed with a mix of shock and something else—something that looked almost like fascination. Her free hand gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white as she stared at me, her breath coming in quick, uneven gasps.

I pulled her finger from my mouth, my voice rough with concern as I reached for a clean kitchen towel. ”You’re bleeding,” I said, my thumb brushing over the wound gently as I wrapped the cloth around it, applying pressure.