Author’s Notes: As you may have expected, sex will be present in this chapter.
Vegeta stared with wide eyes at the woman on top of him as they bounced on the bed, the bedsprings creaking with their every action. It had been two hours since they started and Bulma was still going. Try as he might, the woman always managed to get the more dominant position. They had wrestled, rolled, and she still won. The boxer thought he saw anger flickering in her eyes but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t think straight. This woman was pushing him to the brink of insanity as she rode him; driving him to the depths of her soul. The prince held on to the flapper’s thighs as she moaned and gasped loudly.
"Sh-shuushh!!!" Vegeta hissed loudly to quiet her but she wouldn’t relent. Instead, she bounced harder, making it hard for the prince to hold back.
"S-stop it woman! What’s wrong with you?! You’re going to—MMPH!!!" the prince was silenced by the tongue that plunged into his mouth. Unable to resist, he lolled his tongue against hers, his hands reaching down to grasp her breasts. Bulma moaned when she felt his fingers lightly pinched her nipples. Suddenly, she was turned to her side and before she knew it, Vegeta was on top of her.
"You’ve had too much fun. My turn," he gruffed and started charging forward. Bulma wrapped her legs tightly around the boxer’s waist, moving against his thrusts. It was wild, what they were doing…not at all like the night before. This may be attributed to the flapper’s aggressive behavior that night. It was she who made the first move; she who attacked her lover’s clothes; she who straddled him like a horse. This presented a challenge for Vegeta, making him wild with desire. His face was smeared with bliss; his thrusts hard and frenzied. For a fleeting moment, both pairs of eyes met…then held. Their deep breaths were in unison with each other as sweat continued to dampen their bodies. The boxer’s thrusts started to slow down and then eventually stopped. Bulma didn’t seem to notice he had, as she looked directly into the black oblivion that was his eyes. She saw something there that she never saw in any man before. Without thinking, she reached out to lightly touch his masculine face with her palm. It startled him for a passing second, but he soon found his hand on hers, his mouth lightly raining kisses on her soft, dainty fingers. Then, his lips grazed upon her heart-shaped ones…but it wasn’t the same as the way they kissed before. This time, it was gentle, warm and passionate. Bulma had never been kissed like that before; it both frightened and thrilled her at the same time. Then Vegeta stopped. The flapper looked up at him.
"Shut up!" the prince shouted and hastened his pace, giving out hard thrusts that made Bulma gasp.
"Vegeta! Stop! You’re hurting me!" she wailed but the prince had turned a deaf ear. He was angry. He hadn’t meant to do what he did. He didn’t understand how or why he had kissed her that way nor could he understand the way his heart had beaten against his chest at that one special moment. The woman’s moans invaded his ears, making him feel more alive. Then it started. He cursed loudly as he surged forth inside her, like a river un-dammed. Four? Five? Six times? He didn’t know how many times he had released himself. Bulma screeched as she too, exploded against him. When the prince had lifted himself away, she curled up into a fetal position, still jerking from the fading spasms of the most intense orgasm of her life. She could hear the deep breathing of her lover as he too, hungrily took in air, both their bodies heaving. As the prince turned his back on her, the blue of the flapper’s eyes began to shimmer with tears. Not long after, her body began shaking from her sobs. It was supposed to be her and Yamcha in bed together. Instead, she found herself in the arms of a man she disliked. She wouldn’t have done this if she hadn’t found her beau in bed with another woman. Thinking about what she saw a few hours ago made her cry even harder.
"Oh, dry up!" Vegeta scolded. "Did it really hurt that bad?!"
"It’s not that…" she sniffled.
"Then stop it! I can’t get a descent night’s sleep with you bawling out like that!"
Bulma glared at the back of the boxer’s head. She turned away from him and pulled the covers up to her neck. She didn’t understand how she could have seen that spark of kindness when they had kissed…if that was what she saw. She touched her moist lips, playing that moment in her head over and over again before her lids grew too heavy to stay open.
The boxer craned his neck to the direction of the flapper. Certain that she was fast asleep, he sat up, the blanket riding up to his hips as he gingerly moved closer to her. Leaning against the headboard, he simply stared at the beauty before him; beauty that seemed to come from a foreign land. He figured she’d be gone before he wakes…so this was probably his last chance to see her face in full detail. Moonlight streaked down from the window, highlighting the woman’s forest green hair as well as his own ebony strands. Then, he saw something sparkle behind her closed eyes. It cascaded down to her cheek, running down to the bridge of her nose and onto the mattress. His hands curled at the covers. If there was anything he hated more than anything else, it was to see a woman cry. He had hated the way it had wrangled his heart when he saw his mother doing it; he didn’t want to remember it now. He gently wiped Bulma’s tears away with the back of his hand and quickly drying it against the pillow, as if afraid he’ll be contaminated by such emotions. Trying not to think about anything more, he decided to rest.
Vegeta’s lids slowly parted at the pitter-patter of heavy rain outside the hotel. He sat up, still groggy from sleep, resting both his hands on his legs. He set his eyes upon the empty space beside him. He had anticipated her early departure. He ruffled his strong hand against his face, ridding it of sleep before running it over his disheveled hair. His eyes darted across his room. Though it was already seven in the morning, the room was quite dim; like the dismal skies outside. A cold breeze circulated within the four walls, making the prince shiver. He turned to the source of the draft. The window had been opened, the curtain fluttering against the wind. He let out a grunt of irritation. He was about to stand up and close it when he saw a silhouette standing behind the curtains. He squinted his eyes for a better view. When he saw who it was, his mouth gaped in awe. There, sitting on the windowsill, was Bulma. She was wearing one of Vegeta’s bathrobes, as she silently drank a cup of coffee. Sensing that someone was staring at her, she turned to the direction of the bed. She gave out a small, tight smile when she saw that her lover was awake.
"Hi. Did you have a good night’s sleep?" she asked, still sipping from the cup.
"I…huh? What are you doing here?! I mean…how come you didn’t leave?!"
"I…I’m so sorry…" the flapper stammered, interpreting the boxer’s bewilderment as anger. "It was raining…and…I still don’t have money for a cab. Then…room service was delivered and…" she looked down into her half-filled cup of coffee. "…I couldn’t help but get some coffee…but I didn’t touch your breakfast. Honest," she set the cup down along with the tray of food on a cart beside her. "Don’t worry. I’ll return the bathrobe. I’m really sorry. I’ll go now."
"No, no, no…I don’t mean that!" Vegeta stopped her, still quite astonished. "It’s just that…you didn’t…never mind," he stood up and hurriedly put on his underwear, before striding towards the cart. He opened the silver cover and looked down at his breakfast: sunny-side up eggs laced with truffle, two fat sausages, a glass of juice, toasted bread and a bowl of salad. At the corner of his eye, he could see Bulma biting her lower lip, as she stole glances at the food. Their little exercise the night before had made her ravenously hungry. The boxer closed the cover with a loud crash against the silver tray.
"Change your clothes," he ordered, as he went over to gather his.
"Huh?!" the green-haired German’s eyebrows raised quizzically.
"Just do as I say!" Vegeta snarled, making the woman hurry to do what he asked.
Bulma stared at everything around her. The chandeliers loomed over her, sparkling against the light. The paintings of flowers and nature scenes adorned the marble walls. She sat stiffly on her velvet-covered chair as she and Vegeta waited for their food to be served. It seemed awkward to be the only persons dining in the huge restaurant of the Ritz.
"Really, Vegeta…you shouldn’t have done this," the flapper looked down on her knees, genuinely embarrassed.
"I’m doing this to shut your stomach up. I could here it growl a mile away," the prince stated flatly, his face hidden behind the copy of the New York Post he was reading. "Besides, I saw you eyeing at my food awhile ago. Nookies always make people hungry."
The blue-eyed lady’s face flushed with red. Maybe she should have kept her lips sealed. Now, she was more embarrassed than ever. She couldn’t bear to look at the man across the table.
"I…just don’t think I’m wearing the appropriate clothing…" she squeaked. Vegeta raised his eyes from the paper and towards Bulma’s loose-fitting off-white sleeveless dress. Her brand new coat and cap were only needed for cold nights. The design of her dress was quite plain, but so were Vegeta’s clothes: a white shirt together with plain brown trousers held up by black suspenders. In fact, he was still wearing his bedroom slippers.
"Oh, hooey! It’s not like anyone else is here," he turned to read another page. At that point, the woman decided to say nothing more. In order to busy herself, she began rummaging through the menu.
"Don’t bother. I’ve ordered for both of us," the boxer stated, folding his paper as the waiters arrived with their dishes. Bulma perked up at the all too familiar smell emanating from the trays. When they were opened, a smile rippled across her face.
"Kasseler Rippchen!" she declared.
"What was that?" Vegeta gave her a puzzled look.
"Kasseler Rippchen. That’s what this is, right?"
"I thought it was Casilir Ripishen."
"No, it’s Kasseler Rippchen. Brined, smoked pork loin," she turned to the other dishes. "Sauerkraut…Pumpernickel…Weisswurst…these are all German dishes!"
"How’d you know? And how come you can pronounce ‘em well?" the prince looked at her with new interest.
"My parents are from Germany," she smiled, making the man’s thick eyebrows rise. "I was born here but I’ve visited the old country a few times. I’m not really a master at speaking Deutsch but I could never forget how the foods are pronounced," she bent her head down, her lips quivering into a slight frown.
"What’s eating you this time?!"
"My mother used to make these for me…" her eyes started to get watery.
"Hey! Hey! That’s just food!" the boxer complained. Bulma patted the corners of her eyes with a napkin before turning back to her smile.
"What made you order these?"
"I developed a taste for German food as a young boy," Vegeta sliced off a piece from the Kasseler Rippchen and put it on his plate. "My father has some businesses going on there and he brings a lot of food back with him for me and my mother."
"Where do your parents live now?" the flapper scooped up some Sauerkraut while nibbling on her slice of Pumpernickel. The dark-haired man didn’t respond, his eyes looking down on his plate as he shoved the food in his mouth. The lass stared at him for a while. When she saw the tight creases that had formed between his brows, it hit her.
"Oh…I’m sorry…" she bit down her lip. "How did they—"
"Just pipe down and eat, will you?!"
"My father died when I was eleven," the blue of the woman’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, as she refused to follow the prince’s harsh command. "He was shot by some Russians when they attacked Bremen."
Vegeta’s head shot up at the mention of the place.
"Did you just say Bremen?"
"Yes. Why?" Bulma gave him a questioning look. She saw the corner of the lad’s mouth twitch before he focused back on his food.
"Nothing. Just forget it."
"Okay. Anyway, after that, me and my mother…" on and on, she talked, more out of nervousness than rebellion for the man in front of her. She felt she had to do something rather than bask under the eternal silence that filled the restaurant. Then, a young redheaded waiter walked up to them and put a lit candle at the center of the table. The couple stared up at him, both with puzzled looks on their faces. To their utter surprise, the young man produced a violin from behind his back and began playing a soft classical melody. The couple set their eyes upon each other again. The flapper felt a blush rise up to her cheeks. Vegeta still had that look of astonishment in his face, which was quickly replaced with an irritated one.
"What’s the meaning of this?!" he demanded. The freckled waiter, perhaps lost in the sweetness of the melody, closed his eyes, an idiotic smile pasted on his face as he continued to play. The prince’s hands slowly curled into fists. In a split second, his fingers shot up to grab the waiter by the collar.
"Didn’t you hear what I said?!"
"S-so sorry Mister Vegeta sir! But we just thought that…being this woman is the first you dined with here…w-we’d give you a special presentation…"
The boxer released the panic-stricken waiter, who immediately fixed his collar.
"Thanks, but no thanks. Now, go!" Vegeta ordered gruffly, pointing towards the door. The waiter nodded at the couple before hurrying out the restaurant. Bulma heard the redheaded young man say to someone, "I told you we shouldn’t have done that!"
She then set her sights on the boxer.
"Now why did you go and do that? I thought it was sweet."
"I couldn’t hear what you were saying with him fiddling away on that thing."
The young woman’s blue eyes widened at his response. She hadn’t thought he was listening to her at all.
"Well? Why are you so silent all of a sudden?!"
"Oh," she regained her composure. "Uhm…so tell me…am I really the first woman you took dining here?"
"For starters, you’re the only one who didn’t leave early. And you’re the only one who got caught in an early morning downpour," the ebony-haired man replied quickly; too quickly, Bulma thought, her lips curving into one of her beautiful smiles.
"Okay," she shrugged, and continued on with conversing. After a while, Vegeta began talking to her as well. Their conversation continued well after the waiters had taken their dishes away. A few elegantly dressed customers started coming through the door.
"Oh, so that’s why you were there last night," the flapper figured, after the prince had told her of his being raised by a friend in the Bronx. "By the way, you’ve never told me what your job is. You’re no big-time bootlegger are you?"
The man’s dark brows rose at this question. Perhaps it was high time he told her. There wouldn’t be a loss on his side now, would there?
"I’m a professional boxer," he stated flatly, as if it was nothing at all.
"Haha! You slay me! But seriously, what is your job?"
The boxer looked at the woman straight in the eye. How come she didn’t believe him?
"I’m not joking. I am a boxer," he insisted. Bulma gazed at him skeptically. He did have the built of any man under that sport…even more so.
"Prove it," she challenged. Before Vegeta could think up of a way to convince her, the opportunity presented itself when one of the waiters came over with a pen and a copy of The New York Post. It dated back three days ago, in which the Prince of Knock Outs was featured in the sports page.
"Sorry for disturbing you sir, but those ladies over there would like to have this signed," the balding waiter rolled his eyes. It seemed that those ladies had nagged him to do this. The couple turned to the table a few feet away from them. Three young women, all with blonde hair, waved their gloved hands at the boxer.
"Tell them I’m too busy and I need my privacy," the prince snapped, much to the waiter’s relief. He faced the green-haired flapper once more.
"Why are you scowling?"
"Huh?!" Bulma touched her face. She didn’t realize she had been. "It’s…just that…UHURM! You never told me you were a boxer."
"You never asked," he pointed out. "You don’t follow boxing now, do you? Or don’t you read the papers?"
"It’s a little of both," the blue-eyed lady bent her head down in shame. It would’ve been okay if he was just rich…but famous? What will people think when she saw her with him? They’d probably think she was just another gold-digger…or worse, a gold-digging quiff.
"I…I have to go," she was quickly on her feet and jogging out the door before Vegeta could react. She ran out the empty hallways, forgetting everything else but the thought of getting away. She was nearing the receptionist’s desk when she felt a tight grip around her arm.
"What’s wrong with you, woman!?" the boxer pulled her close to him. "Why’d you make a scene like that?! What are those people going to think?!"
"Exactly!" she flared back. "What are they going to think when they see you with me?! You shouldn’t be bothering with someone like me at all! There are a lot of wealthier vamps all over this place! Try them out!"
Vegeta’s onyx eyes penetrated through Bulma’s brilliantly blue ones. Finally, he sighed.
"Come with me!" he dragged her towards the elevator. When they reached the 18th floor, the prince pulled the flapper back into his room.
* * * * *
Author’s notes: You’re probably thinking: Oh no…not another bedroom scene! Well, don’t think that just yet!
Dry up = shut up
Flapper = A stylish, brash, hedonistic young woman of the 1920’s with short skirts and shorter hair
Gold Diggers = a woman who pursues a man for money
Nookie = sex
Oh hooey! = Nonsense!
Pipe down = Stop talking
Quiff = a slut or cheap prostitute
Screw = get lost
What’s eating you? = What’s wrong?
You Slay Me! = That’s funny!
* I don’t know if the Ritz serves German dishes. I’m just a fan writer so don’t sue me.
* Kasseler Rippchen = brined, smoked pork loin
* Weisswurst = a delicately flavored white sausage made of veal and pork, cured in mild
brine, and steamed before serving
* Pumpernickel= a very dark rye bread, is perhaps the best known of German breads
* Sauerkraut = pickled cabbage, is the best known of German cabbage dishes