“Well?” she pushes when I just stare at her.
My brows pinch as I look down at the piece of technology. “What does google mean?”
She chuckles and shakes her head, making me frown even deeper. Is she fucking laughing at me?
“Okay, so, serious question, demon. What age are you?”
“I was born in 18?—”
“Oh God, I’ve fucked an old man.”
She goes to stand, but I catch her arm. “When were you born?”
“2003.”
My eyes widen. “You’re a fucking child.”
“I’m twenty-two. You’re old enough to be my great-great grandfather.”
This is horrifying. I could’ve gone on with my day not knowing I’m hundreds of years older than this girl. I mean, Ifuckedher. My dick was inside her, and she was born in…
“You look ill,” Sable points out.
“I am disgusted with myself,” I reply. “Why are you laughing?”
She covers her mouth. “It’s just… funny. You’re, like, around two hundred years older than me.”
I decide not to tell her that I was in Hell for much longer than just two centuries.
“Wait. So… What aftershave do you use? Did you have aftershave in Hell?”
She’s trying to annoy me.
“Sable,” I warn, losing my patience. “Stop fucking laughing.”
She bends forward and holds her midsection, shaking. “I can’t.”
Huffing, I lean my head back and wait for her little moment to subside. It lasts a few minutes before I glance at her. She has tears in her eyes, and she looks pretty.
Fucking hell. Even when she cries with laughter about my age, I find her attractive.
“I ask again, what in the ever-loving fuck does google mean?”
Sable wipes her eyes and watches me as I sigh in annoyance and get to my feet.
“Okay, okay. Sit back down, Grandpa. Let me teach you how to use this phone.”
The small black box sits in the palm of my hand. It has a glass front, with what the humans claimed to be cameras on the other side.
I study it. It’s new and weird, and I feel old. Curiosity gets the better of me at times—like when I needed to know what Sable’s pussy would feel like tightening around my cock when she came or how she’d sound when she moaned, beautifully loud.
The screen lights up. There’s a picture of a dog and a blonde girl smiling with it crushed against her face.
Sable leans over me, and I bristle at her proximity and how badly I want her entire body against me. “She’s cute.”
I hum, feeling her hair on my arm, needing to run my fingers through it or at least grasp a handful and?—
“Now click on this,” she says, pointing to aGon one of the things she calls an icon. “Oh, she automatically deletes her search history. Scandalous.”
