Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 492: The Ghost Who Came Home

From the shadows, I eavesdropped on every word, my blood boiling with suppressed fury.

As soon as Peter vanished into the bedroom and the door latched shut, I compressed my God Speed domain into a tiny point and materialized directly next to Helena on the sofa—swiftly enough that the cushion scarcely sank beneath my weight.

Helena remained sunk in her frightening thoughts, her vacant stare fixed on the floor. She completely failed to notice me perched less than a foot from her. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, her frame still trembling from that night's ordeal.

For several moments, I just observed her—this woman whose desires had granted me a new life and god-like abilities. She seemed so tiny and vulnerable now, utterly unlike the groaning, rear-spreading whore burned into my memory.

Slowly, I extended my hand, fingertips grazing the space between us, as my voice sliced through the heavy, fear-laden silence like a silken dagger.

"Helena..."

Her head whipped toward me with neck-breaking speed. The instant her bulging, blood-veined eyes met mine, raw primal terror washed over her features. Every bit of color vanished from her face in a flash.

"G-Ghost...! It’s a ghost...! Oh my god, you’re dead... you’re supposed to be dead!" she screamed, voice shattering as she clambered backward over the sofa, almost toppling off the side. Her arms thrashed wildly in front, as if she could shove the horror away physically.

"Stay back! Please—stay away from me! I didn’t kill you! I swear on my life, it was Peter! It was all him! I told him not to do it! I begged him!"

A deep, ominous chuckle escaped me, reverberating strangely through the silent apartment. Deliberately unhurried, I rose to my feet, advancing toward her with precise, measured steps.

Helena retreated frantically until her back crashed against the remote wall. Escape was impossible now. She flattened herself against the chill plaster, chest rising and falling wildly, tears cascading down her cheeks.

"Do you honestly think a couple of pathetic bullets could end me?" I questioned, my voice taunting and steady, as though chastising a naughty child.

"Even shoving my car off a cliff with me inside... I have to hand it to you two. That took some real balls. Too bad they weren’t nearly enough."

Helena's breaths devolved into quick, panicked sobs. "No... no, please... it wasn’t my idea! Peter planned everything! He said if we didn’t get rid of you, you’d ruin us both! I’m innocent, I swear! If you want revenge, go after him! Haunt him! I didn’t want any of this—I never wanted you dead!"

Her cry swelled into a deafening shriek that ricocheted off the walls. "Peter! Peter, help me—!"

The bedroom door burst open with a thunderous slam.

Peter burst out, shirt hanging open and hair in wild disarray, his expression warped with enraged bewilderment. "Have you completely lost your fucking mind, you stupid bitch?! What the hell are you screaming for in the middle of the night?!"

But the moment his gaze fell on me—standing there living, composed, and solidly real in his living room—his body seized rigid. His mouth fell slack. The rage on his face dissolved in an instant into sheer, gut-wrenching dread.

"No... No, no, no... A ghost... You... you’re dead! I killed you myself! I watched you bleed out! I stuffed your fucking corpse in the trunk!" His voice broke, rising shrilly with each syllable. "This isn’t happening... this can’t be happening..."

I cocked my head, a gradual, predatory grin curling my lips. "Peter... Peter, Peter. You really have no idea who you fucked with, do you? Didn’t I warn you that night? Didn’t I tell you you’d regret doing this?"

Peter began striking his own face with fierce, desperate slaps that raised angry red welts on his cheeks. "Wake up... wake up, damn it! This is a dream! You’re not real! You’re not standing here! I killed you! You’re supposed to be rotting at the bottom of that cliff!"

His meltdown drew no attention from me. With a single fluid stride, I closed in on Helena, snaked an arm around her waist in a claiming hold, and yanked her shivering body tight against my own.

Ere she could draw breath to gasp, I mashed my lips against hers in a fierce, possessive kiss—tongue thrusting into her mouth, dominating her just like countless times before.

She went rigid in stunned surprise, but the firm heat of my torso, the genuine warmth of my flesh, and the insistent push of my tongue made her eyes snap wide.

I eased back only enough for her to inhale, my lips still grazing hers. "Helena... tell your husband... does that feel like a ghost to you?"

Helena's fingers seized my shirt in frantic need, fingering the cloth, detecting the firm pulse beating underneath. Her words emerged as a shattered, unbelieving murmur.

"You... you’re real... Oh god, you’re actually real... How is this possible? I saw you die... I saw the blood pouring out of you... I helped push the car off the cliff... How are you standing here? How are you kissing me right now?!"

Peter’s shock twisted abruptly into a darker emotion—furious desperation. He snatched the pistol from his waistband, the very same one he’d fired at me previously. His arm trembled wildly as he pointed it directly at my forehead.

"I don’t give a fuck if you’re a ghost, a zombie, or the fucking devil himself!" he bellowed, saliva spraying from his mouth. "If I killed you once, I can kill you again! Stay the hell away from my wife!"

Peter pulled the trigger twice without a moment’s pause, the shots coming in quick bursts.

Bang! Bang!

Thunderous blasts from the gunshots ripped through the villa.

Under the might of God Speed, the world around me ground to a flawless slowdown.

The pair of bullets drifted sluggishly in the air before me, twisting in languid, elegant spirals, their brass shells glinting under the lamp’s glow like minuscule, lethal constellations. One headed right for my face, the other toward my torso. I stayed put. No need to budge.

My Eternal Vitality activated on its own, hardening my flesh and skeleton tougher than diamond.

A muffled thump marked the first bullet’s impact against my cheek.

The next one drove into my chest. Clean punctures ripped my shirt, yet the projectiles merely deformed and folded upon striking my unbreakable form, as if colliding with fortified metal. They fell harmlessly to the ground, producing two distinct, ringing clinks.

Clank... Clank...