Chapter XIII - One Step Forward
I feel that I'm finally
Of waiting to be
Consumed by you.
Give me the first taste.
~Fiona Apple, First Taste
"Oomph!" Bulma breathed painfully as her tender rump slammed into the hard, rocky ground. "Godsdammit, Vegeta! That fucking hurt!"
"Move faster, you lazy cow!" he shouted from across their desert battlefield, sweat pouring down his brow into his eyes, arrogant smirk permanently curving his sculpted lips.
Bulma’s eyes narrowed in a ferocious glare, steam literally smoking from her ears. She struggled out of her prone position, groaning with the effort to pull herself into a low crouch, the majority of her weight settled on the balls of her feet. "If you were any sort of real man, you’d get your ass over here and help me!" she yelled indignantly.
Suddenly, he disappeared from her line of sight only to be towering over her a split second later. "Woman, when you’re in the heat of battle," he growled, "you canNOT ask your opponent for help!"
She blinked her wide, blue eyes at him innocently, and Vegeta felt a part of his insides melt. This woman was just too damn cute sometimes. I detest cute, he thought darkly. With a sigh of reluctance, he did, however, extend his right hand towards her, and with a satisfied smirk, she reached for him with her right hand as well.
And just as it was too late, Vegeta realized his mistake.
Bulma threw her weight backwards, pulling him forward with her, throwing him, in turn, off-balance. Faster than a normal human should be able, she rose from her crouch and swung herself around in a half-circle, kicking out a long leg. Her foot made contact with the Prince’s confused face, sending him flying through the air. He landed a few yards away, sliding through the dirt and gravel with a violent hiss.
Remaining true to her training, Bulma followed through with her roundhouse kick, landing once again in a slight crouch. She glanced over at her companion, wickedly pleased to see him groaning in pain and shock on the ground. Then, overcome by exhaustion, she too collapsed gracefully onto the dirt.
"Next time, don’t assume your opponent wants help!" she called out to Vegeta.
The only response she received was a low, menacing growl. She chuckled lightly, her body arching with her laughter, causing her joy to die in a loud moan as her entire being registered extreme pain. In the three months she’d been on Vegetasei, she never had hurt as much as she did right now, even when she’d begun training. All she wanted was a cold glass of water, an equally cool shower, and then a warm, relaxing bubble bath.
From his spot a few paces away, Vegeta tried to clear his fuzzy head, mentally cursing himself for his stupidity at falling for her feminine wiles once again. Since he had begun training her, Bulma had never taken him down by sheer strength alone. Although her power level had already increased incredibly to around 25,000 on a standard scouter, she was still no match for him.
However, she was a keen strategist, and about two weeks prior, had begun to bring him down not with strength, but by using his weakness (mainly his attraction to her) against him. It was either a fake pulled muscle or ‘accidentally’ ripping her suit to expose enticingly pale flesh, and the Prince was gone, completely and thoroughly distracted. A state of mind Bulma was then able to take delighted advantage of.
He smirked. At first, her behavior had irritated him because it meant that she’d gotten around his defenses. Then, after awhile, he’d realized it wasn’t so bad. Their little hand-to-hand spars were an excuse to touch her, and in the end, she was merely demonstrating to him that his labor was beginning to bear fruit. Spitting dirt from his mouth, Vegeta rose, already recovered from her blow. He had been more shocked than hurt, and it was a surprise to discover that she’d perfected that particular move.
Walking over to her, his smirk deepened as his eyes possessively skimmed over her form. She had been beautiful when he’d first found her, but after weeks of intense physical training, her soft, nubile flesh had become supple, toned muscle. Before, she’d been beautiful. Now, she was exquisite. And that very exquisiteness was making it nigh unto impossible for him to keep his hands to himself.
After three months, his passion for her had not wavered. In fact, it had only increased. She was everything he could ever want. Looking upon her now, dirty and sweaty and tired, he still wanted her. Desperately. The spell she wove upon him was provocative, all-consuming, and utterly catastrophic to his existence.
She made him long for things that as a Saiya-jin warrior, he shouldn’t want, and, as a Prince, he couldn’t have.
Ever since Nappa’s death, they’d slept in the same bed, her small, fragile, delectable form pressed against his, and she still would not allow anything between them but a few kisses. It was a worse torture than any Frieza or Zarbon could have devised. Sometimes, he felt proud of his ability to resist his raging passions; a warrior should be able to have complete control over his mind and body.
However, there were times when he cursed himself for his weakness in not just taking what he wanted. The only thing that kept his selfish desire in check was the knowledge that she would hate him without end if he were to take her by force again. He was honestly surprised that she didn’t hate him now, but for whatever reasons, she had chosen to forgive him. He wasn’t going to question those reasons. His resolve was to do as she wished, even if it killed him.
More than he wanted her body, he wanted her love.
This realization, too, caused his pride to be troubled. On certain days, when his mood was generally calm, he could accept this desire. On a rare occasion, he could even admit to himself that he cared about Bulma. He called these his good days.
More often than not, however, he had bad days. Days where his desire was so acute and his senses so intently focused just on her, that it was all he could do not to seize her wherever they happened to be and take her then and there. Of course, his honor would talk him out of it, and his mood would grow morose over being denied what he wanted. On these days, he and Bulma would always fight viciously, with him usually being the one to instigate the hostility.
At first, his bad days weren’t that frequent. He had plenty of distraction around him, especially with training both her and himself and with the problems with Frieza. The lizard tyrant had not taken well the death of his spy mainly because it meant he was cut off from knowing what the Saiya-jins were planning. Several colonies on the outer rims of the Empire had risen in revolt in the last few months, and though it could not be proven, Vegeta knew Frieza had had a hand in them. Thus, he trained Bulma so that she could be stronger (making him stronger in the process), and he concentrated on exploring all his capabilities as the Super Saiya-jin.
So, all in all, his bad days weren’t too many. But as of late, it seemed they were becoming the norm. Without any sign of progress from Bulma, his attitude was fast becoming frustrated and colder. Today, however, had begun as a good day. Looking at the woman now, though, with her wild, windblown hair and perspiration-soaked suit clinging to all her curves, Vegeta found his day turning into a bad one.
"Woman, get off your lazy ass!" he commanded. "We are wasting enough time as it is."
Bulma glared at him. "My ass is not lazy!" she said testily. "I just can’t move it."
Vegeta shook his head in amusement. She always pulled this routine, though he wasn’t sure why. Reaching down, he grabbed one of her arms and yanked her to standing. She let out a startled ‘eep’ but otherwise didn’t protest.
Pulled flush against him, her eyes widened when she felt his hands kneading and massaging her rump gently. "Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered.
Bulma didn’t know how it was possible, but his smirk grew even more arrogant. "You said you were hurting. I’m just trying to make you feel better," he replied smugly.
Then, he kissed her, quick and hard, his tongue sweeping her delicate mouth in a rush of spontaneous passion.
He pulled away, however, before her senses could adjust to his invasion. "Now, woman, you feel better," he stated.
"Oh, I do, do I?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement more than irritation.
Vegeta smiled genuinely, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed actually happy. Bulma saw his obsidian eyes light with joy, and his face appeared much younger when not screwed into a fierce scowl. She felt a gentle tug on her heartstrings, and she sighed. Vegeta, for all his darkness, was beginning to grow on her. Bulma found herself finding the wall of resistance she’d erected between them crumbling more each day.
"What are you smiling about?" he asked interrupting her train of thought.
"Nothing," she murmured. She knew from past experience that trying to prod Vegeta into talking about his feelings was harder than trying to get Goku to eat politely, and it always put him in a bad mood, especially right after training.
"Humph," he replied absently, as his mind had already turned to other things. Unconsciously, he ran his fingers through her silky tresses as he thought. "We must go now. You stink, and I want you at your best for the banquet tonight."
Her good mood vanished, both at his insult and his reminder of the Festival of the Crescent Moon, an annual celebration of the one day when the moon only showed half of itself. It was apparently also one of the highlights of the ‘social season’ and attendance was expected of all the nobility. Saiya-jins could apparently let go of their carefully guarded control without worrying about going Oozaru. They went into more of a sexual frenzy than a bloodthirsty one, according to Radditz.
All it sounded like to Bulma was a weak excuse to engage in a massive orgy. Of course, when she’d voiced this opinion, she’d been properly set down. While sex played an underlying role in many of the festivities, actual intercourse took place only in private. At least, mostly, Radditz had tried to reassure her. However, there were many public displays of affection, Vegeta had added with a leer in her direction. She understood the unspoken promise of many such displays he had in mind.
Understandably, Bulma had no desire to attend.
"Must I go?" she asked for the twentieth time that day, a petulant pout forming on her lips. "After all, I’m not really your concubine. I’m the Key," she reminded him.
Vegeta wanted to argue with her claim, but he knew she was right. In the last few weeks, he’d been concentrating more on her role as the Key than his concubine. He channeled his sexual frustration into training, both her and himself, especially since he’d discovered her scientific genius and had had her build him a gravity room. It was housed alongside his estate and was fixed with a ki shield. He could train there as the Super Saiya-jin with none being the wiser.
And his need for secrecy made Bulma his concubine in the eyes of Vegetasei, and as such, it was her duty to attend the Festival with him.
"Little one, we’ve been through this already," Vegeta replied, moving his hands from around her to cup her face gently. His lips brushed against hers. "You must go, if only to preserve this charade for awhile longer."
"Whatever," Bulma snorted, not allowing herself to be taken in by his sudden tenderness. "You only keep up this act because you can order me around as your concubine," she accused.
Vegeta threw his head back in laughter. Three months ago, he would have raged at her words, but he’d mellowed somewhat since her coming into his life, much to his chagrin. "Lady, you being ordered around by me has nothing to do with you being my concubine," he said. "I can order you around because you are mine."
Despite herself, Bulma shuddered slightly with excitement. When it wasn’t violent or enraged, Vegeta’s possessiveness towards her a little flattering. However, she never let him know that. "You only think you can order me around," she teased.
He frowned, but not in anger. His eyes narrowed at her, but they twinkled, too. "You’re right, woman," he agreed gruffly. "You don’t hear very well."
"Oh, I hear just fine," she countered. "I just don’t listen."
Vegeta’s frown turned into his customary smirk. "True. You don’t do that very well, either," he replied deadpan. "Now, enough of this foolish nonsense. We must go. I’m late as it is."
"No fair," she protested. "I was winning."
"Shut up, woman, and no, you weren’t. Now, concentrate."
"Fine," she muttered. Bulma closed her eyes, trying to center herself, knowing that’s what Vegeta wanted. Reaching into the depths of her mind, she harnessed her ki, urging herself to power up enough to fly.
In the months she’d been training, Bulma had felt that she’d made remarkable progress in terms of defensive and offensive moves and in firing ki blasts. If warmed up enough, she could even knock Radditz out of the sky. However, when it came to flying, she was sorely inept, and she couldn’t figure out why. The Prince and Radditz both suspected it had something to do with her human genetics. Her body simply wasn’t accustomed to the thicker air pressure found on Vegetasei. It was only when she focused herself entirely that she was able to rise a significant distance above the ground, and once she had risen, she couldn’t move very fast.
"Good, good," the Prince murmured.
Opening her eyes, Bulma found herself hovering about five feet above the ground. She beamed a brilliant smile at her would-be lover. "That’s the fastest I’ve ever done it!" she remarked excitedly.
"Yes. Quite amazing," he replied, looking at her with a burning intensity.
Saying no more, he took off and started for home at a pace she could follow easily. Trailing slightly behind him, Bulma couldn’t help but think that his comment referred to more that just her flying.
By the time Bulma, Vegeta, and Radditz arrived at the Capitol, the evening’s festivities were well underway. The streets outside the palace walls were teeming with second- and third-class warriors, palace whores, and other servants or slaves, all enjoying the limited luxuries allowed by their stations. Bulma moved as close to Vegeta as she could in order to escape groping limbs, of which there were plenty. It’s kinda like Mardi Gras, she thought to herself.
And indeed the Festival of the Crescent Moon was. It was the one time of the year when Saiya-jins could completely lose control of their bloodthirsty natures without having to worry about turning into Oozaru. They could let go and have a wild time, and there was no danger of waking the next morning to find the planet laid to waste. The degree to which a Saiya-jin celebrated depended on his or her class. Second- and third-class warriors were expected to act more depraved and wild than their superior nobles and Elites. Dragonsblood, comangi root, and other aphrodisiacs flowed freely among the crowd, urging them on in a hormone-driven stupor.
Vegeta, for his part, hated the crowd that always gathered right outside the palace, the hangers-on who hoped to be granted permission to take part in the delights offered by the Royal family, if only for one night. He really wanted to fly over the throng and land in the courtyard, but too many warriors were already smashed, and in their drunken state, might shoot at him. While it would not kill him, it might hurt the woman. He cursed himself again for training too long in the gravity room and causing them to be late. In past years, the Prince hadn’t minded mingling with the gaggle of commoners before heading into the throne room for the Elites’ quieter, more dignified celebration.
This year, however, he regretted not being early because it exposed Bulma to this rough element. Already males and females were coupling in the darkened shadows provided by the unlit walls, and once the trio stepped onto the actual palace grounds, things weren’t much better. Here the crowd was a little less dense and couples weren’t actually having sex, but Vegeta was taking no chances. He wound his tail around her waist, pulling her to him as close as possible. If they became separated now, there would be no finding her until morning, and with the state the males in the throng were in, he knew those gold bracelets around her wrists marking her as his would mean nothing.
Vegeta scowled as he remembered how much trouble those bracelets were causing him. He removed them from Bulma everyday for training, but put them back on her the minute they returned to his estate. This time of the day Vegeta had come to dread because it always seemed to erect a new wall between them that might have fallen already.
That was what had happened again earlier after they had flown home, each relaxed and content in the other’s company. They had not been in sync like they were for a very long while, and Vegeta wanted to preserve it as long as possible. He’d even almost forgotten to put her bracelets back on. When he’d remembered himself and had gone to fetch them, Bulma had become withdrawn and silently angry upon his return. For a few minutes, she’d even refused to extend her arms to him. Finally, after what seemed like hours of insults and verbal injuries flung at one another, she’d reluctantly submitted to him, but he could tell her resentment still ran high.
"You will always think of me nothing more than slave, will you?" she had asked quietly.
The Prince hadn’t known how to respond, so he’d just stood there in silence. All he could think about was how her temper tantrum was costing him valuable training time, but he knew if he brought that up, she’d only get angrier. He figured the best course of action was to keep his mouth shut. That, too, though, in the end hadn’t been a good idea either.
"It’s alright," she’d continued after realizing he wasn’t going to comment. "Because I’ll never think of you as anything more than the monster who holds me captive."
She’d screamed those last words at him and run into their room, her blue, blue eyes watery with tears. He’d wanted to follow her, but still had no idea what to say. He was her superior, and as such, it was her duty to serve him. Besides, her presence had to be explained somehow, and her identity as his slave was the easiest and most practical way to keep her safe.
However, he couldn’t rid himself of a heavy knot that sunk low in his gut and twisted. He still carried the aching feeling with him, even after an intense, vigorous workout. When he’d emerged from the gravity room to shower and dress for the Festival, he’d found Bulma already ready, sitting quietly in their room. She’d ignored his presence at first, but then had slowly apologized for her outburst, saying that she knew what Vegeta was and knew that he wasn’t going to change.
Vegeta hadn’t known what to say to that either, but figured if she was sorry, he might as well let it go, too. He’d just grunted his acceptance of her apology, had kissed her hard, and gone to clean up. When he’d come out of the bathroom, Bulma was where he’d left her, but with a tranquil expression on her face. They’d then left.
The Prince had thought the matter settled, but now as they wound themselves through a mass of bodies to the doors of the throne room, he wasn’t so sure. Bulma had been very quiet and cooperative throughout the evening, which wasn’t like her. She smiled pleasantly enough at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He felt the return of that heavy feeling of dread clench his stomach, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
As they at last reached the throne room, Vegeta nodded to the guards to allow them entry and soon the raucous noise of the crowd was nothing more than a low rumble.
"Do you remember all that I told you?" he asked Bulma quietly, unwrapping his tail from her and brushing his fingers through her hair.
Her eyes devoid of any emotion, she replied, "Yes, Prince Vegeta, I do remember all that you’ve told me. Please do not worry that your slave will embarrass you."
A scowl darkened his features. "Dammit, woman! You know I didn’t mean it like that!" he hissed.
"I know very well what you meant, you monkey bastard! This whole little orgy is supposed to remind me of my place, isn’t it?" she returned will equal heat.
"No, it’s not!" Vegeta roared. "I just thought you might like to have a good time for once! I was just trying to be considerate! I‘m trying to learn how to empathize like you told me to!"
"Considerate, my ass! And empathy? You wouldn’t know what it was if it bit you on the ass! How the fuck am I supposed to have fun at a party that celebrates your prowess and demands that I wait on you!"
"You’re mad because you have to wait on me? Godsdammit, woman, it isn’t that big a deal! I’ll get one of the other courtesans to wait on both of us!"
"Sure, then you can taunt me later about how I’m not even a very good slave!" she spat. "And then you’ll have an excuse to beat me or worse!"
"By the gods, woman, I don‘t have time for this!" he snapped. "Get over whatever little bug is eating at you, and behave properly!"
"Fine," she murmured, her voice as hard and cold as ice. She started to pull at the ties of her cloak, letting the heavy, woven material fall to a pool at her feet. "Let’s get this farce over with."
"Very well," he ground out, grabbing her bare arm and placing it in the crook of his.
He flung the doors open with a controlled beam of his ki and marched through the entryway. All movement around the throne room seemed to stop as the couple entered. They made quite a striking pair. The Prince was decked out in full military regalia, choosing the black/red armor of his own private squad rather the traditional armor of the Royal house. Bulma was dressed to match in the black gown she’d originally worn upon arriving on Vegetasei.
The Prince paused momentarily, allowing his people to bow to him in respect before he continued towards the throne. Bulma paid no heed to this, however, as she concentrated on the rich decorations of the throne room. The once massive space had been seemingly reduced in size by the sheer volume of warriors in it, all of them lounging or sitting upon the rug-covered floor on big, jewel-toned pillows. Courtesans and concubines in various stages of dress flowed fluidly amongst the men, serving food and wine. A few were standing in the central area before the throne, dancing and singing, but these females departed as the Prince made his way to his father, dragging Bulma along.
Vegeta gave a stiff nod in recognition of his father, but other wise ignored the man as he sat himself in the smaller throne to the right of the King’s. A large pillow rested at the foot of his chair, and Bulma assumed this was meant to be her place. However, before she could sit, the Prince grabbed her small frame and pulled her into his lap, anchoring her there with a strong arm.
"Oh, yes," she whispered. "I’m having a wonderful time. Complete subjugation to you is a real turn on."
He fixed a fierce glare at her. "Watch your tongue, little one," he growled lightly. "Or I’ll give you some comangi."
"Comangi root. It’s an aphrodisiac. When mixed with dragonsblood, it can turn even the most rebellious hellcat into a sweet, docile, and willing kitten," he almost purred.
That sent Bulma to trying to struggle more. "There’s no way in hell I’m letting you drug me, you pathetic excuse for a living being!" she replied, trying very hard to keep her voice down. She paused as an idea occurred to her. "Is that why all the women are so damned obedient?"
"Yes," Vegeta answered honestly. "Most concubines and palace whores are given the root in small doses to keep them pliable and malleable. At this celebration, however, they’re given even more so that their ardor will match that of the warrior they are with."
"You...you’ve never done that to me, have you?" she asked tremulously.
Vegeta’s grip on her tightened painfully. He voice oozed with anger as he answered. "Of course not, you idiot! I don’t need to ply a woman with drink and drugs to get laid!"
Bulma realized she had hit a nerve with her question. "Oh," she said quietly. She opened her mouth to speak some more, but Vegeta stopped her by placing two fingers gently on her mouth and shaking his head.
For the time being, she was content to let silence reign.
As the evening wore on, a variety of dancers and performers came to sing for their supper, but neither one of the turbulent couple paid much attention. Vegeta was still being gnawed at alive inside by his feeling of dread and shame, and yet, much to his frustration, he couldn’t place the feeling he was having or why. All he wanted to do at this point was fuck his concubine, but since he couldn’t do that, he settled for getting wasted.
Bulma, for her part, was too busy watching in disgust as all the enslaved women rushed to do their masters’ bidding, and she was surprised to find herself thinking that she was one of the lucky ones. The Prince could have easily subjected her to the same treatment many of the pleasure slaves before her.
Len’ah came by at one point during the hours of the celebration with a pitcher of dragonsblood for the King and offered glasses to both her son and Bulma. Vegeta had been drinking his fair share throughout the night and accepted the cup without a second glance at his mother. He missed the hurt look that darted into her silver eyes, but he was too gone to care anyway.
When offered a glass, Bulma eyed it warily, her question blatant in her eyes as she met the Prince’s. "It’s alright, little one," he said. "The dragonsblood served to the warriors is not laced with comangi root powder. You are safe."
At Len’ah’s encouraging nod, the blue-haired concubine accepted the strong liquid reluctantly, but graciously, not wanting to offend the Lady. She looked as if the last few months had been rough on her. Ever since the whole Nappa fiasco, the two hadn’t seen each other. Whenever Bulma had asked Vegeta about his mother, he’d just replied that his father had taken care of her. Looking at the woman that night, she couldn’t tell how Len’ah was faring.
Nursing her glass of dragonsblood, Bulma tried to block out all thought, and the liquid refreshment certainly seemed to help her to that end. Within moments of finishing her drink, she began to feel alternatingly hot and cold, energetic and lethargic, aroused and relaxed.
Looking up into the Prince’s handsome face, she felt the world around her whirl, and suddenly she couldn’t remember why exactly she’d been avoiding, no, shunning, his embrace. The rejection must have hurt him deeply, especially on top of all the other crap he’d been dealing with. Bulma instantly felt guilty for her selfishness and wanted to do something to help ease his pain.
Then her mind was consumed with the single thought to make the Prince feel good.
Placing her hands on either side of his face, she pulled herself up him, capturing his mouth in a smoldering kiss in a manner very similar to how he conquered her. Not giving him a chance to hesitate, she plunged her tongue between his lips, rubbing her body against him to fuel his desire. Vegeta responded with equal fervor and soon all around them disappeared as they lost themselves in a heated embrace.
Breaking away for breath, Bulma whispered, "I need you. Now."
The desperate need in her voice nearly sent him over the edge, and he vaguely wondered what had been in her drink. That thought was soon dismissed, however, as she ground her rear into his lap, brushing his hardening member. Abandoning all reason, he stood with her scooped in his arms, not caring about the startled, then irritated, look crossing his father’s face.
"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" the King boomed.
"Fuck off, old man," Vegeta replied, never breaking his gaze with Bulma or faltering in step as he strode to one of the side doors to the throne room.
He walked briskly down one of the long halls that meandered the palace, pausing after a short while in front of a carved door. Paying no heed to the obviously painstakingly-crafted panel of wood, he kicked it in and entered his room. Had Bulma been able to focus on anything but Vegeta, she might have noted the spacious luxury of the decor, but she had eyes only for Vegeta.
The need she had for him had been growing steadily into a heated flame within her, and as soon as he set her on her feet, she was wrapping her arms around him, bringing him down to her for another kiss. They embraced this way for several long moments, the silence of the room broken only by their muffled groans of pleasure.
Soon, however, neither could stand it anymore, and they began tugging at the other’s clothes simultaneously. Cloth and armor and underwear flew in a flurry of passion until both were naked and wound around each other again. Vegeta felt his legs about to give out from underneath him, and he roughly slammed Bulma into the wall, not stopping his hands from roaming all over her body, smoothing and pinching and twisting warm flesh.
Bulma was an active participant in this activity, too. Her hands ran over his hardened planes and dips, her nails raked across his back, leaving red trails that sent tiny thrills jolting through him. She arched against the wall as his hands fondled and weighed her breasts and gasped with need as his mouth and tongue teased her taut nipples. Soon, she was only aware of the great burning need centered low in her abdomen.
"Please, now," she said breathlessly. "Please..."
Vegeta chuckled arrogantly. "If that’s what the lady wants..." he murmured around her left nipple.
Giving her no warning whatsoever, he plunged himself into her warmth, hearing her sharp hiss at the sudden invasion. He paused for a moment as her pain subsided and found the reality of her to be better than any fantasy his imagination could conjure about her. She was all around him, surrounding him in a soft, tight, welcoming brace of warmth.
He felt at home.
Immediately, the need took control, and he began a pounding rhythm, grunting with effort to keep himself in control long enough for her to be fulfilled. Her orgasm wasn’t long in coming, and as she screamed her release, Vegeta spilled himself into her, spasming with the aftereffects of his climax.
Suddenly spent, he leaned against her, smashing her between his weight and the wall. He rested his head on her shoulder, nipping and lightly kissing the tender flesh. His mind was still clouded with passion, and he wasn’t able to think straight.
All he knew was that he wanted her. Again.
Bulma was equally out of breath, but also still in incredible need. It seemed just as she had finished, the yearning for him began all over again. Fleetingly she wondered why, but then she felt his mouth on her breast again, and lost all thought. However, she was coherent enough to know she didn’t want to do it against the wall again.
"Bed," she murmured.
Vegeta simply nodded and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom and dumping her roughly on the bed. He pounced on her, covering her lips with his, beginning the exploration of her body anew. Bulma arched and writhed and groaned beneath his mouth, hands, and tail, and soon enough, he needed to be inside her again.
However, just as he positioned himself at her entrance, she pulled away. Looking askance at her, he allowed himself to be pushed down to the bed, and his confusion turned into intrigue when she straddled his waist. "And what do you think you’re doing, little minx?" he asked softly, sensually reaching up to cup her generous breasts.
Bulma leaned into his tender ministrations. "Nothing," she said slyly. "Just don’t want you being the one doing all the work."
Saying no more, she rose above him and slammed herself onto his waiting member. Setting up a slow rhythm, she rocked against him, enjoying the complete control she had. Vegeta’s hands fell away from her breasts, and he grabbed the sheets of the rumpled bed as waves of pleasure washed over him.
Suddenly, Bulma stopped. He cried out, feeling empty and cold at the abrupt halt in his ecstasy. Vegeta looked up at her. "What’s...wrong?" he breathed.
A hand extended, smoothing his worried brow. "I don’t want to do this as your slave," she said. "Remove them."
Moonlight glinted of the gold bracelets encircling her wrists, and as Vegeta realized what she wanted, he frowned. Taking them off could prove dangerous because she had not control on her ki, and if she became angered or excited enough, it could shoot up rapidly, alerting everyone in a thousand mile radius of her presence and her power. It would blow his cover.
Seeing his hesitation, Bulma began rocking against him again, and as pleasure overtook him, he decided to screw secrecy. "Un..lock," he muttered.
The bracelets immediately fell from her wrists, and she tossed them across the room as she switched back and forth between riding him fast and slow. She kept teasing him for a few moments until Vegeta gained enough control of himself to grasp her hips, raising and lowering her over him in an increased rhythm. Both lovers crashed into each other in a wild and rough and wholly uncontrollable frenzy.
As he felt her nearing her release, Vegeta held her hips in a harder grip, increasing the already inhuman speed of their thrusts. In the middle of a low moan, Bulma’s entire body arched and stiffened as another climax engulfed her. The feel of her tight, warm walls clenching and unclenching around him sent the Prince over the edge of ecstasy after her, and he came with one last, violent push into her.
Small shocks coursed through her body as Bulma collapsed onto Vegeta’s sweat-soaked chest. She’d never felt more satisfied in her life, but was grateful when she didn’t feel the overwhelming need to have him rise again. All she knew was that she was incredibly happy and incredibly tired. She propped herself up on his chest for a brief moment, dropping a hard, but fast, kiss upon his mouth, before she climbed off him and rolled to the edge of the bed, giving into the demands of sleep.
And leaving Vegeta feeling vaguely empty and wondering what the hell had just happened.
* * * * *