Author’s Note: This chapter contains another gratuitous lemon.
Satan City, 1927
As he carried the ossified Bulma home, several hours after accepting her foolish challenge, Vegeta regretted his impulsive actions.
First of all, he should never have taken her to the speakeasy in the first place—and had he been thinking clearly, he never would have. But after that incident with Frieza a week ago, he hadn’t let her out of his sight except when another trusted member of the Family accompanied her, or she was safely ensconced at Juuhachigou’s home.
He had cursed himself half a million times for not seeing that one coming—for not realizing that her life would be in danger simply because she was his girl Friday. He still remembered what had happened to Pan, and the thought of Frieza violating Bulma like that, having his men hold her down while he took his tiny dick into his hands and shoved it into her body, raping her—the very thought made Vegeta violently ill.
Hiring her had been a mistake, dammit. He’d known that he should have had one of his men fill in for Pan’s former duties, even if he grumbled about it. At least it would be safer than putting another woman’s life at stake.
But when he’d seen her, something had come over him. His rational sense had flown the coop, and his other, lower head had taken over. He’d wanted to have her so badly that he couldn’t think straight.
She was such a conundrum. One minute she acted like a sweet, placid Gibson girl, the next she unsheathed her claws and became a pure bearcat. He just couldn’t peg her. Every time she talked back to him, and even every time when she said, "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," he wanted to throw her down on the floor, rip off her dress and take her.
But she was a virgin. He could tell by the way she acted around him, so innocent. Any other woman would have caught on to his lust by now, but not Bulma. She remained completely ignorant of the overwhelming intensity of his feelings for her.
And damn, right now, as she lay in his arms, sleeping soundly after drinking a surprisingly large amount of hooch, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. It would be so easy to take her back to his home, lay her on his bed, and make sweet, slow love to her. She wouldn’t object; in fact, the alcohol might make her even more amorous.
But, dammit, he was a man of honor. He wasn’t a rapist or a pimp like Frieza. He refused to take an unwilling woman, whether she was half-under or not.
Bulma stirred in his arms.
"Vegeta?" she asked, her voice slurred. She snuggled closer to him with a soft, sleepy moan. He nearly moaned himself as he felt her breasts press against his chest. The thin blue dress she wore hardly acted as a barrier between them. "So warm," she murmured.
Vegeta swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to quell his rising manhood.
"Fuck," he said aloud.
As he reached the corner near Juuhachigou’s house, he put her down.
"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice gruffer than usual. Dammit, how could she look this beautiful when she was totally soused? No other woman could hold up as well.
Bulma blinked at him sleepily, then pressed her body up against his. Vegeta cursed again, silently.
"Stop that, Bulma," he said softly, unconsciously using her name. "Let’s ankle. I have to get you home."
"But I don’t wanna go home," she told him with the simplicity of a child as she locked her arms around his waist.
It was only by the greatest of luck that her body pressed against his side, just enough so that she couldn’t feel his hard-on pressing against her. He wanted to get the woman home, not scare her.
"You’re bent, Bulma," he said, trying to be gentle even as every pore in his body screamed for him to take her. "You have to go home and sleep it off, or else you’ll have one hell of a headache in the morning." He purposely avoided telling her that she’d probably have the headache either way.
"But Vegeta," she said breathlessly, her grip on him tightening, "I want to go home with you."
She pressed her body against him, leaning up on her toes and nuzzling her lips against his neck. Vegeta closed his eyes, shuddering.
Fuck! Why is she doing this now? Dammit, I’m not going to take her while she’s drunk. God dammit!
He pushed her away. "God dammit," he snarled, his throbbing erection adding to his rising irritation. "You’re going home, woman. Now." He grabbed her fiercely by the arm and began dragging her towards Juu’s house.
"Ouch!" Bulma cried, attempting to pull her arm from his grasp. "Vegeta, you’re hurting me!"
Vegeta stopped and turned around. There were tears of pain in her eyes, clearly visible in the light of the moon. He quickly removed his hand from her arm, instantly regretting what he’d done. Hurting a woman was one of the most dishonorable things a men could do. And he had hurt her. Of all the women in the world, he had hurt the only one he wanted.
"Bulma …" he whispered, his voice carrying on the wind. He reached out a shaky arm and cupped her cheek in his palm. Bulma closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into the palm of his hand as his thumb wiped away her tears.
"I … I want you, Vegeta," she admitted in the softest of whispers, opening her eyes and penetrating him with a look of such raw desire and pure longing that he could no longer resist her. "I want you to make love to me … I want you to be my first lover." Her tiny hands rose to grip his wrist as she turned her face to plant a small kiss in the center of his palm. "…Please."
He’d given up. Her blue eyes, filled with so many raw emotions, had torn apart his heart, melting any resistance that had once held him back from her.
"Woman …" he breathed, his palms cupping the back of her head and bringing her face close to his.
She stared up at him with the wide-eyed wonder of a virgin as he placed his lips on hers, sealing the fall of his honor with their first kiss.
Her lips were so soft, so innocent. He pressed his tongue against them, urging her to part them. She gasped, and he took advantage of her surprise, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth, gently touching her timid one.
He felt her hands holding tightly onto his shoulders, as though she were afraid to let go. He felt something warm in the pit of his stomach. It felt good that she needed him. He wanted her to need him.
His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against her body. The feel of her soft skin pressing against his hardness made his erection jump, at which Bulma gasped again, giving him even more reign over her lovely mouth.
After several minutes, he broke the kiss and stared down into her eyes. She didn’t look drunk on cheap moonshine anymore; she looked drunk on lust. She stared up at him with half-lidded eyes that made him want to take her right there, on the street corner, in the dead of night.
"Vegeta …" she whimpered. "Don’t leave me. I want you so badly right now …"
Vegeta swallowed hard as she snuggled up against his body. He had to get her back to his place right now, or else he’d forget everything else and have her right here without a second thought. He didn’t want her first time to be on a street; she’d never forgive him.
Swinging her up into his arms—much to the giggling Bulma’s delight—he made a mad dash towards his home.
He arrived in record time, not even slightly out of breath as he carried Bulma into his bedroom and slammed the door shut with his foot. He laid her down on the large bed in the center of the room and stared into her large, sapphire blue eyes.
"Bulma …" he whispered softly before kissing her again.
Everything was a blur after that. Clothes came off, not in a frenzy of passion but with a gentle, almost heartbreaking tenderness, until they were just two souls, naked, making love.
His lips were everywhere: her lips, her neck, her breasts, then lower.
Bulma moaned as he kissed a burning path up her inner thigh to the part of her that ached to receive him. He nipped and sucked at her core, his lips and tongue causing pleasure to spiral outwards to her every single extremity. Her hands clutched at his hair, pulling him closer as something tightened within her. She felt as though she were about to burst, and although it scared her a little, it also exhilarated her.
Through a haze of passion, she felt his mouth move away from her, and she whimpered at the loss of him as the tightening within her grew almost painful.
"Vegeta," she breathed, pulling his mouth to hers for another kiss.
She felt his hands caressing her body everywhere, and all their motions, all their movements, blurred together. Their bodies weren’t the only entities that would soon join; she somehow knew that their souls would merge as well. That thought, as absurd as it seemed to her passion-filled mind, made joy blossom in her heart.
His hands finally found hers, and he threaded their fingers together, placing their arms above her head.
This is it, she thought. From this moment on, we will be joined, forever …
And then she could no longer think at all.
"Ve … gee … TA!" she cried out in ecstasy as he plunged inside her. No pain intruded upon her moment of glory; she felt wonderful. He stopped within her, hovering above her, unmoving, his face inches from hers. Bulma turned her head to the side and saw the strain on his face, and the joy; he loved her just as much as she loved him, although his pride would never let him tell her, and would probably never let him admit it to himself, either. But such trivial matters were of no consequence now. She leaned up and placed her lips upon a bead of sweat that had dropped from his brow. She kissed a path down his cheek to his lips. She pressed a chaste kiss upon them before pressing her forehead to his in a much more intimate gesture.
She felt as though they were one. As though she could feel what he felt, and vice versa.
It truly was the most amazing moment of her life.
Then he moved inside her again, and her thoughts scattered to the winds. The feelings inside her body consumed her, causing her to burst into flames as the tightness that had lingered in her belly exploded into a thousand crystals, a shattering perfection that destroyed her very being—and resurrected her anew in a glorious after haze of pleasure.
Vegeta, the man she loved, shuddered above her, and she felt him release himself inside her. He collapsed, panting with satisfied exhaustion, atop her and buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her there with such tenderness that she thought she might explode again from pure joy.
"Bulma," he murmured softly after several long, silent minutes had passed. "I … I didn’t hurt you, did I?"
Bulma smiled, finding his concern even more endearing than his spectacular performance just minutes before. "No," she whispered back, planting a kiss on his forehead. "I feel wonderful." She snuggled closer to his body.
He smirked, but the expression quickly faded. "Woman," he started, his brow furrowed and his voice filled with a thousand different worries.
"Hush." Bulma placed her lips atop his to silence him. "There will be time enough in the morning to think about what we’ve done. Tonight … why don’t we have more doing and less thinking?" Her once-innocent hands stroked down Vegeta’s inner thigh, both surprising and arousing him.
Without another word, he accepted her invitation.
Ouji Island Resort, Present
He could hear Frieza laughing behind him, a vile, maniacal laugh. The laugh of a madman.
"Woman," he whispered softly, cradling her head gently in his arms. The bullet from Frieza’s gun had ripped through her torso. He had pulled out his own gun to fire on Frieza’s gang, but when he had seen her running towards him his heart had stopped completely. After his murderous enemy had shot her—an innocent, completely unaware of the danger she’d been in—catching her as she fell had suddenly seemed more important to him than exacting revenge upon Frieza for his father’s death.
Her eyes, once so blue and so vivid, were now dull, pale imitations of their former selves. She turned her gaze to his and his breath stopped in his chest as she accused him with her eyes.
"Why?" she asked softly. She paused to cough up an ungodly amount of blood before continuing, "Why did you shoot me, Vegeta?"
She sounded so sad, so wounded, that he couldn’t comprehend for a moment what she was saying. Then it hit him—she thought that he had shot her!
"Woman," he said desperately as her eyes closed. She was on the brink of death—she’d lost far too much blood to survive. He couldn’t let her die believing that he’d killed her. "Woman, I didn’t shoot you. Do you hear me, woman?"
But she didn’t seem to hear him; she coughed up some more blood onto his trousers and whispered, with her last breath, "Why …?" before falling completely limp in his arms.
"Woman?" he asked, desperate. She couldn’t be dead—not Bulma. "Woman!" She’d always been so vibrant, so full of life. "Bulma!" He had never known true happiness until she had come into his life. "BULMA!" His painful scream, filled to the brim with the sting of lost love and raw regret, reached all the way up to the heavens, as no scream ever had before.
He buried his face against her shoulder, shuddering in a futile attempt to hold back tears of grief. He’d never felt this way before, as though his beating heart had been violently ripped straight from his chest. Even when he’d watched his father die with his own eyes at the hands of King Cold, he’d been able to shove the pain aside and think rationally. But now, the only thought running through his mind was "She’s dead." Nothing else mattered now—even if Frieza killed him right now, he wouldn’t care. He’d welcome it, in fact. The sweet embrace of death was the only thing that could rejoin him with Bulma.
"Bulma!" he cried as he shot up in bed.
He felt something shifting beside him and turned with well-trained reflexes, prepared to strike before realizing that it was her.
The pounding of his heart slowed and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched her.
She looked so beautiful when she slept.
He lay back down in her bed, unable to take his eyes off of her. This is it, he thought, elation pulsating through his blood, I’ve finally found her. Nothing can prevent his now …
He had lived through his whole life with one goal in mind, and he had finally succeeded …
He frowned. But if he’d found success, then why were they still here? Something should have happened by now.
He shrugged off his concerns as his eyes darted over her head to the digital clock next to her side of the bed. He cursed silently, realizing that it was already well after six o’clock and he had an early meeting at seven.
Reluctantly, he slid out of bed, wondering if he should leave a note for her then quickly nixing that thought. He’d see her again later; with any luck, she wouldn’t be too mad at him for leaving her alone in the morning.
He performed a search for his clothes as small, soft rays of morning light began filtering through the curtains. Frowning, he realized that in his overzealous passion, most of his clothing had ended up ripped or torn, as had her underwear.
Vegeta smirked. It had definitely been worth it.
Whistling—an act that would have amazed anyone who’d ever known him, in any lifetime—Vegeta sauntered from the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Bulma opened one eye, looking around to make sure that he was gone.
She’d been awake even before him, but before she could leave he’d woken up, crying her name. She’d desperately tried to pretend that she was asleep, and apparently she had been able to fool him into believing it. She hadn’t wanted a confrontation with him this morning. Her bones shivered at the thought of what he might do to her.
He had killed her in a previous life; who could say he wouldn’t do it all over again?
All her hidden memories had come crashing down on her consciousness last night after they had sex—she refused to call it ‘lovemaking,’ since such a barbaric man could surely never love anyone. She’d thought he’d loved her back then. She’d certainly been in love with him. But in the end he had betrayed her, shooting her in cold blood.
She could never love a man like that, even though her heart screamed at her that she already did.
True, she loved him. But she refused to let him kill her again. Everything now was happening as it had so long ago; he’d planned for her to get drunk and then took advantage of her less-than-rational state of mind. He’d made love to her as though he really did love her. All lies—horrible, vicious lies that had led to her death in a previous life.
"Well, it’s not going to happen this time, Buster." She spoke softly, her words barely echoing in the dark room as shadows played across the walls and ceiling. "I refuse to let you take advantage of me again. This time, I will make it out alive."
She hopped out of bed, naked, and opened the door to the closet. Pulling out her suitcase, she set it atop the bed, opened it, and began loading her things into it.
She would leave the resort this very afternoon, and never set eyes on that murderer, ever again.
* * * * *