Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 490: A Mother’s Gentle Touch

Slowly and deliberately, I stepped into the villa, each footfall careful, as if the fragile instant could shatter like thin glass.

Every element carried a holy reverence—the comforting aroma of buffed marble mixed with fresh blooms in the entryway, the warm golden rays cascading from the sparkling chandeliers, the refined luxury that whispered of ancient wealth and subtle dominance. This wasn't merely a dwelling; it was my true home, stolen away the day Peter lodged a bullet in my head.

I entered the living room and halted.

And there she sat.

Victoria Williams—my mother, the city's unchallenged empire of commerce—lounged elegantly on the spacious leather couch, her sharp gray business suit clinging perfectly to her poised, mature silhouette.

Her jacket fit flawlessly, the crisp white blouse beneath parted just right to reveal a glimpse of refined collarbone. Legs crossed with natural grace, one sleek black heel swaying gently while she pored over a hefty pile of papers with her signature piercing, analytical intensity.

Wayward locks of dark hair had slipped from her sophisticated bun, accenting a countenance that drew gazes even in her late forties. She appeared precisely as etched in my memory—stunning, authoritative, and savagely devoted.

Several maids in crisp uniforms glided silently nearby, setting a silver platter laden with sliced fruits, icy water, and delicate treats upon the low table.

Instantly spotting me in the doorway, the maids snapped upright and bowed in flawless harmony.

"Welcome home, Young Master Dexter."

Those plain words struck like a blow to the gut. A surge of warmth rushed through me, tangled with piercing sorrow.

An eternity had dragged on—so many lifetimes, it seemed—since such heartfelt warmth and deference had been offered to me. In the Stone Age, I'd reigned as a tyrant, a debauched deity forging a harem via brutal conquest. Here... I reverted to their young master once more. The stark irony clenched my throat.

I refused to let them fret any longer.

Peter meant zilch now with my vastly superior strength—a miserable pest I could wipe out with one whim or a lazy God Speed flick. I could erase him tracelessly, sparking zero suspicion. But for now, this was all I desired: serenity. Kinship. Everyday bliss, even if fleeting.

Approaching quietly, I eased onto the sofa next to my mother, our shoulders brushing close. With a tender gaze, I laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, sensing her body's heat through the suit's luxurious weave.

Victoria swiveled her head, her keen eyes instantly warming with worry upon meeting mine. She discarded the papers without pause.

"What happened, Dexter?" she asked, her tone soft yet threaded with that signature motherly command. "Tell me. Do you need more money? Don’t worry—Mom will transfer it to your account in a bit. Just say how much."

Those quintessentially her words—ever poised to conquer crises with fortune and devotion—drew a sincere, radiant smile across my features. For the first stretch in eons, it truly lit my eyes.

"No, Mom... I have enough money now," I replied softly, my voice firm. "More than enough."

Victoria eyed me briefly, then her mouth twisted into a cunning, perceptive grin—the sort born only from a mother's deep insight into her child.

"Oh, don’t I know my son the best?" she teased lightly, one flawless brow lifting playfully.

"Come on, tell me... which woman did you fall for this time? Is she pretty? Smart? I’ll help you. You know your mother has excellent taste and even better connections. If she’s worthy of my son, I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Heat of shame rose to my neck, recalling my old life's reckless pursuits—the nonstop casual romps, mindless skirt-chasing. Yet now, a genuine harem beckoned from beyond time itself; the disparity was downright absurd.

"Mom... don’t worry," I said, scratching my neck sheepishly. "I can take care of them myself. Really."

Victoria laughed, her voice deep and loving, eyes gleaming with mirth. "My son is still so shy. Look at you—all grown up and still blushing like when you were sixteen."

Ere I could reply, firm footfalls resounded from the corridor. My father, Richard Williams, strode in—towering and refined in his custom shirt and trousers, his aura seizing the room effortlessly.

"Oh? You’re all here," he said warmly, a delighted grin spreading as he surveyed us. He crossed to the facing sofa and settled with casual command.

The maids swiftly reappeared, serving glasses of cool water before my father and me with silent precision before stepping back.

Gazing upon my parents seated there—my mother radiating elegant might, my father emanating silent, unyielding strength—a profound awareness enveloped me like a comforting shawl. This was the one thing I'd craved above all else.

It wasn't wealth, prestige, or even the rush of victories. Merely this. Everyday instants. Kinship. Love bestowed freely, without demands, mechanisms, or Pervert Points.

The heavy toll of my past trials—perishing, awakening in the Stone Age, erecting a realm of women, attaining godlike abilities—weighed upon my chest. Yet within this living room, encircled by the pair who nurtured me, it all seemed curiously far-off.

Slowly, I drank from my glass of water, the refreshing chill tracing down my throat and rooting me firmly in the moment.

That ordinary motion carried an almost divine reverence. Across what seemed endless lifetimes for the first time, the ceaseless racket in my thoughts—the system pings, infinite pursuits, sinister impulses from the Pervert Debauchery System—dimmed to a remote whisper.

Peter could hold off for the moment. Retribution as well. The system, the harem flung across timelines, the reality-warping frenzy of God Speed... everything could linger.

In this very instant, home is where I am.

With nightfall approaching, the amber sunlight faded into the cozy gleam of chandelier lamps. Maids worked with hushed precision, laying out the grand dining table with delicate china, gleaming silver utensils, and sparkling crystal stemware.

Soon, the fragrance of hot, homey dishes wafted through the room—sumptuous, memory-stirring favorites that clenched my heart: herb-crusted grilled salmon, velvety garlic mashed potatoes, olive oil-glazed roasted veggies, and Mother's legendary mushroom soup I hadn't savored since before my end.