Svitlana looked at the ceiling like a pale, naked chef at a tasting. She put a delicate fingertip to the corner of her mouth – I was sure, again, that there was nothing there – and popped the fingertip between her lips. For some reason I became aware of my cock, resting wet and soft, still on my thigh. Life was far off, but signalling a return.
She still stared, blankly considering, at the ceiling. Life in our bedroom stopped in suspense. It was a small world, but all of it was waiting for her judgment. “Well?” I said.
Svitlana laughed suddenly. “This is like that book! I read it when I was learning English. Green eggs and ham?”
She kissed me, mouth to mouth. “Got any more? Jaime-I-am?”