Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 3

Barbie sits up and pulls Oppenheimer in by the straps of his suspenders, still clipped to his pants. "You have too much on," she decides, daring to finally touch him lower than his shoulders. Not like she's ever touched a man like this before, but she's still so curious. She gently palms him in between his legs, feels his breath hitch against her face as he tilts his forehead against hers. There's something powerful about it, about knowing she's the one affecting him by her words, her actions. Even his moans have that deliberate quality to them, his voice effortlessly low and calculated.

She again fumbles through undoing his pants, but he quickly kicks them aside and they're forgotten like the rest of the clothes they've stripped off. Oppenheimer sets her down against the pillows again, kissing her quickly before sitting up. When he lifts her left leg by the calf, Barbie wonders what he has in mind as he kisses her stocking-clad knee. But then he places another one a little bit higher. The next one, higher than that, against the inside of her thigh and she gasps quickly, twitching into it.

His eyes bore into hers through thick lashes, silently asking for permission for what he's about to do. Through parted lips she nods and mouths, "Yes," because she can't find her voice in this moment.

It's like he's moving slowly on purpose just to tease her further, or maybe time seems to be moving slower in calculated anticipation. He snaps off each clasp of the garter belt before adding it to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor, and finally tugs her knickers down her legs. Barbie lifts her hips, sighing in relief just to have them off. She's been pulsing and aching for some sort of contact; it's practically embarrassing how she's already gripping the sheets before he'e even done anything.

But he's not fazed by her desperation—Oppenheimer simply moves her leg over his shoulder and dives in without another thought, kissing her core as she shudders into him. Immediately Barbie moves one of her hands from the sheets to her mouth, biting a groan against her palm because at this rate, the whole building is going to hear her. How the heck does a physicist know how to please a woman like this, to lap at her folds like a man starved to drink her down? Isn't this part of that time period where people thought female pleasure was still a myth? She can only watch through half lidded eyes as his head bobs against her, completely engrossed in her heat, her scent. God, she's probably been aroused since before she even realized it was arousal, and with that in mind, she knows she's not going to last very long.

He pauses, and Barbie whines into her palm because no, no, she's definitely not there yet. Resting his chin on her thigh for a moment, he looks up at her through dilating eyes, and oh, those gorgeous lips are glistening with what Barbie can only assume is, well, her.

"Barbie, take your hand off of your mouth so I can hear you properly," he orders, but his tone is still rather gentle. And now he's content to wait until she does, letting the patient seconds draw out like minutes as those blue eyes continue to bore into her.

Maybe it's because Barbie never really lets herself be vocal when it's just her; she's too nervous about all these factors back home. But he's making it so easy to just let the world melt away until they're the only two that exist. Slowly she brings her hand down from her mouth so she can once again place it in Oppenheimer's hair, brushing her manicured fingers through those soft locks.

He smiles, shifting to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Good girl." And he's back on her in a moment, and her fingers start to tug, trying to find purchase. Barbie hates when men call her "girl" usually, but something about his tone, the sensuality of the praise... She lets a moan rip through her body, and her enthusiasm only seems to further encourage him.

She wants to trap him here with her thighs and thrust into him until she has nothing left, wants to push his head against her. Her toes start to curl as she tightens up; each spark of pleasure he gives pulses through her whole body and she's heady and hazy and can't feel her voice as she loses herself. She can only ball the sheets up in her free fist and close her eyes, letting him take her over. If only she could watch him, but everything running through her is so intense and white hot, and she finally gives into the feeling with a drawn out moan that probably overtakes the entire room.