Simply Irresistible
NCDavis
Chap. 4: Mating Season
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z and its characters are not mine, but belong to Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.
Key: Double colons (::): Thought Plus signs (+): Computer's voice Slashes (/): Italics Asterisks (*): Bold/Underline
AN: Gomen. It's been a while, but at last, ch. 4 is done. Whew! As you may imagine, this wasn't easy to write, though, er, enjoyable nonetheless. Have fun! Heheheh.
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How could a head hurt so much? Never mind, it hurt too much to think of an answer.
Bulma opened her eyes, but quickly shut them against the glare. She'd seen enough to know she'd somehow gotten to her room. But wasn't she? Hadn't she been?
Thinking bad, Bulma. Thinking bad.
She groaned, wishing more than anything she could stick her head in the freezer. As if some genie had heard, a shadow fell across her and a cold damp cloth was pressed to her forehead.
"Thank you," she managed to croak.
"I didn't think it possible to crack that hard head of yours."
No way. Her hearing must be messed up too. She forced her eyes open. Vegeta sat next to her on the bed.
"Oh no. I've started hallucinating."
He leaned closer. "What do you think you see?"
"You. But it can't be. The prince of all Saiyans doesn't play nursemaid."
He smirked. "I'm a man of many talents."
This was way more complicated than her brain could handle right now. She tried to raise herself up but failed. "Keep still. You have a mild concussion, some scrapes and bruises, but you'll live."
"What happened?"
"Another bot malfunctioned. It wasn't fully deactivated and seems to have reacted to my raised energy and was about to fire. I destroyed it. Your father has concluded the voice recognition software is defective. All bots are offline until he can solve the problem."
Bits and pieces were coming to her, though the whole picture was still fuzzy. He'd been furious that she'd removed the gravity generator; she recalled that much. He'd been about to fire at her. She knew he wouldn't have hit her. Probably wanted to scare her.
What stood out most is that he'd saved her life.
"I should thank you for more than a compress, huh?"
His shrug was minimal. He had something on his mind.
"You block me at every turn, Bulma. Why."
She gasped. "You used my name." She was too stunned to answer the whole question.
He grew shy at that, looking off in front of him, but otherwise ignored it. "Answer me. Are you so fond of that clown Kakarrot that you'd sabotage my efforts? Are you still angry for the damage I caused when I first landed on your planet?"
She'd never seen him like this before. Solemn; almost defeated.
"That's not it. You just train so hard. I want you to take better care of yourself."
That seemed to surprise him. He dropped his gaze to his hands.
"What if you one day woke up to find everything you know, everything you take for granted -- your family, Capsule Corp -- gone. But you had one thing left."
Her head still throbbed, but this was crucial to him.
"I guess . . . I'd hold on to that one thing."
"My honor -- as a prince and a warrior -- is all I have. Being the best, the strongest is the only way to hold on to it."
"And training . . . is the only way you can the best . . . ."
She let out a tired sigh. A brief smile flitted across his features, but he said nothing else. He replaced the cloth on her head. The coolness felt so good, so soothing. She closed her eyes. She felt his weight shift from the bed from far away . . . .
When Bulma awoke, her room was dimly lit in the blue-gray of twilight. Vegeta's visit, their conversation, had been real, even if she still felt off-kilter. Something had changed between them. He didn't open up to just anyone. That he had to her brought a smile to her heart. And a decision to her mind.
She reached over to turn on her lamp. As she hoped, a bottle of Zylenol and a glass of water rested on her nightstand. She pulled herself up and grabbed the bottle. She was going to need the pain killer. She had work to do.
/=/=/=/
Force of habit had Vegeta headed for the training room for his evening session clad as usual in nothing more than the short pants the humans called Lycra, socks and laced-up shoes. There were two new additions. The soft cast and a slight limp. He couldn't understand why he was even bothering. He could get no fruitful work done in normal gravity, but neither could he sit and do nothing. He conceded he was unsure he could have gotten much done in heavy gravity with his injured leg, but the choice should have been his to make. Not hers. He supposed he could work on fine- tuning his movements. It was an adjustment, after all, growing accustomed to strength and agility forged in heavy gravity.
As he entered the room, he noted the ladder was still down. Hmph, why hadn't anyone bothered to put it in place? Then he caught the sound of a human's wince of pain. Bulma's. She couldn't be.
"Woman, get down here this instant!"
"I'm done anyway," came her muffled reply.
Her legs appeared out of the hole to the ceiling-bound utility space. She was two rungs down when he heard her hiss, saw her grab at her side. She wouldn't make it the rest of the way down the ladder. He shot up to take her in his arms and brought her to the floor, setting her gently on her feet.
"Who gave you permission to leave your sick bed," he barked.
"Look who's talking." She set down her toolbox. "I'm just bruised. You have a broken leg and I can't get you to sit for five minutes."
"I am a Saiyan. Such injuries are a trifle to me. You, Woman, need your rest."
"Aw, Vegeta." She tickled him under his chin. "I didn't know you cared." He jerked his head away. "I-I don't. I just . . . you need to recover in case something happens to Briefs. You are the only other mechanic."
"Yeah . . . sure." She giggled.
"Stop laughing at me!"
"You know what they say; laughter is the best medicine. Maybe I should stick around. Plenty of material here."
He looked at her more closely. "Just why are you here?"
She walked around him to the control panel. The ladder retracted at the press of a button; a panel slid closed to seal off the attic. Her fingers skipped along a few more buttons, and he heard a familiar sound.
+Gravity increase commencing. Safety measures on and functioning. Gravity level at 1G. 1.5G. 2G. Target gravity level reached.+ She pressed the buttons again and the gravity level returned to normal.
He was too stunned to think beyond one simple point. She had done this. For him.
"I meant what I said earlier, Vegeta. I'm not trying to keep you from your goals. I just want you to live to reach them. But I think I have an inkling now of what this really means to you. It's more than a goal. More than one- upmanship with Goku. It's your honor, as profound and as simple as that. I may not agree with your method; I don't know if I'll ever fully understand, but who am I to stand in your way."
She took slow steps toward him, resting a hesitant palm on his face. "This may not be worth much to you, coming from a weak human female, but . . . I believe in you. And believe it or not, I respect you. You will be a Super Saiyan. You'll always be the prince."
He waited for her to laugh, to prove this was some punch line to a joke he didn't know was being told. Yet she didn't. She stood there, her blue eyes shining up at him. No one had said words like that to him since his father. . . . No one else had cared. . . .
Some warmth, some feeling he'd long ago buried as weakness burst through layers of anger and bitterness as a sapling through the mire. Fragile. Sacred. Did he dare confide it to her.
His skin tingled where her thumb traced his cheek as she pulled her hand away. Tentative trust, old desire swirled through his veins in a heady, combustible blend. A faint whiff of her scent sparked the fire.
He stilled her retreating hand, resting his head once more in her palm, reveling in the heat of her skin. His senses were awakening, sharpening. Her scent, intense, assailed him, tingling his nerves alive. Blood surged in his veins, in his loins. Instinct demanded. He obeyed.
Her pulse beat faintly at her wrist. He yielded to the urge to taste her there. Bliss swirled around him at her intake of breath. Subtle saltiness greeted his tongue; the scent of her skin rose from the heated, dampened point. He sniffed along the length of her arm till he found the bend in her elbow. She tasted as sweet here.
He moved farther, resting his head beside hers. The musky change in her body tinted the air as he nipped and suckled her earlobe. Heat coursed through him. Ancient. Primal. Her soft sound, part sigh, part moan, greeted his own low rumble.
He wrapped his arm around her as she fell against him. He dragged his head away from her ear. Intense, darkened cobalt eyes gazed at him, hazy with desire. With his other hand he cupped her face. She nuzzled his palm. The ritual had begun. He waited.
In some distant part of Bulma's mind she couldn't believe this was happening. /Umuraqh/. She was no Saiyan, but she knew this was it. He'd chosen her as, as a mate. Her. Breath caught in her throat. It felt, he felt, so good.
She cupped his hand still resting against her cheek. His jet black eyes bore into her, but he made no other moves. ::What's he waiting for?::
He lifted his hand from her face, but held his arm near. He still stared at her, as if he were willing her to understand. She focused on his upraised arm. His wrist was level with her mouth.
This had all started with the wrist.
She turned her head, mimicking the path he'd taken up her arm; tasting, nipping her way to his ear lobe. A shiver of seductive power shot through her when she heard him stifle a deep groan.
She pulled her head back, only for a moment, before she yielded to the temptation to kiss him. Her mind barely registered the flavor of his mouth before he jerked away, taking a step back from her. He looked confused, as though she'd just sprouted an extra head. For whatever reason, this radical notion crossed her mind. Naw. No way. And yet.
"C'mon Vegeta," she sounded breathy to her own ears, "don't tell me you've never kissed a girl before."
"Kiss?" He didn't sound too steady either.
She was right the first time. "Yeah, kiss. Lips to lips." She grinned. "Or whatever part suits your fancy."
"Saiyans do not 'kiss'."
"Tell that to Goku. I've seen him slip ChiChi a smooch or two."
"I said Saiyans. Kakarrot abandoned his people and his ways long ago."
She replied, shaking her head, "Only you could blame a baby for getting bumped on the head and losing his memory."
She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. "But I don't want to talk about Goku. I wanna teach you how to kiss."
"But-"
"Shhh." She recaptured his lips with hers; firm, soft lips that sent a happy buzz down her body. He didn't respond at first, but then she flicked the pucker of his upper lip with her tongue. His hug crushed her to him. Now she had his attention.
He began to return her kisses, jerky at first, but he soon learned gentle kneading, the darting of tongues playing hide-and-seek.
"I thought," she panted, "Saiyans didn't kiss."
He was trying to get his own breathing under control, but before she could goad him more the world disappeared behind the wave of her shirt being yanked over her head, forcing her to drop her arms so he could finish removing it.
She was left to stand there, her torso bared expect for her bra. The removal of her shirt left her ponytail askew. She pulled the holder off, shaking her hair out before flipping it out of her face.
She nearly crumpled to the floor.
She'd been admired before, and it was a heady feeling. But this. . . . How could eyes so dark burn with such a fire. They bore through her, focused beams of some feral lust that left her burned and shivered in tandem. They scorched her where they rested. Her lips. Her breasts. The dip of her belly. The joint of her thighs.
Whimpers welled in her throat; moisture gathered between her legs; the first spasm shot through her walls.
His satisfied chuckle refocused her attention from her own fluttering body. Had his flame of black hair always crowned such a firm jaw. Had his muscles always run so taunt beneath his skin; broad shoulders drawn her eyes to such smooth, narrowed hips . . . sculpted flanks . . . straining, swollen cock. . . . Contractions begged for what he held for her beneath his clothes. Sweet God, she was about to come and he hadn't even touched her.
She didn't have time or the thinking ability to figure out how he'd so quickly turned the tables. He was looming over her in an instant, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of her shorts, holding her needy hips to his manhood. He nuzzled her neck near her pulse point. His purr, heavy with his arousal, intoxicated her. Dizzying pleasure tore her as his teeth nicked her skin.
Coherence came and went in flashes. Hot sucking at her nipple. Shimmer of fabric slipping down her legs. Sweat clinging to her skin. Slipping off his shorts. His stomach bucking against her mouth when she teased his navel. Her hips pressed into the mat, jerking as he teased her nub with his cock before sinking himself within her.
Every sinew in her had been pulled up and wound around the axis that throbbed inside her. His sweet hips rocked between hers, heightened by the friction of his soft cast against her thigh, forcing labored pants from her with each motion. A wanton greedy creature beat in her belly that would not stop until . . . until. . . .
Staccato sobs met the pulsing quake of her body. In the wake of their subsiding, euphoria washed over her limp limbs. She was his.
She enjoyed Vegeta's weight for only a moment. He pushed himself off of her, flopping onto his back. He radiated tense frustration, emphasized by his fist pounded into the mat.
Oh no. "Vegeta? Is it your leg?"
He shook his head once; His still aroused body was trembling. "It's not the same."
Sickness snaked through her gut. Had she done something wrong?
"What isn't?"
"Without my tail . . . it's not the same."
His tail? She honestly hadn't expected that. Goku's tail had always been so sensitive. Touching it had caused him more pain than anything else. But then, Goku'd lost his tail as a child. What if he'd had it past puberty. Until he'd become a man.
Vegeta remained on his back, eyes closed, trembling in a sheen of sweat, his fists clinched so hard she was afraid he'd crush his own hands. Apparently, losing your tail post-puberty left one sexually frustrated Saiyan. And what was a human female supposed to do about it? She clucked softly, resting a palm on his chest. The gesture had been half-conscious, meant to offer some scrap of comfort, but the sheer agony in his groan made her snatch it away. ::Think, Bulma. You can't leave him like this.:: Okay, a tail was an extension of the being's spine. Bone. Muscle. Nerves. Maybe, just maybe, she could treat his spine like an inner tail.
She took a deep breath. Even if this worked, her touches prior to it would torture him. If she knew she could make him come, she'd be enjoying herself. But what if she only made it worse? There was only one way to find out.
He had her wrist before the first fingertips grazed his abs. His voice, a drill sergeant bark on a good day, came in a dangerously rasped command.
"Leave me be, Woman."
"Shh. I only want to help."
"Your every . . . intake . . . of breath . . . assails me. Your . . . scent taunts me . . . already over . . . flowing the banks . . . of my self- control. You can't help. You're . . . the problem."
She apologized in her mind for what she was about to do to him.
His grip loosened easily when she pulled her wrist free. She got up, taking a few steps towards his outstretched feet. She didn't have to look at him to feel he'd relaxed that slight bit. He thought she was leaving. In that one moment, she took her chance.
She pivoted, swinging one leg over his hips and bending down in almost one movement. His shocked eyes flew open. She knew what he saw. Her kneeling there. Her turquoise hair playing peek-a-boo with her naked breasts; the same-colored apex of her thighs hovering dangerously close to his rigid, angled manhood.
"No-"
"But Vegeta, what if I'm also the cure."
She sheathed herself around him.
His tortured cry rent the air even as his hips thrust deeper. If she could just manage-
Umph! He'd rolled them. How? She didn't remember him sitting up, but there was no denying the force with which her back met the floor, matted or no. Nor was there any denying the force of his thrusts inside her, each one slamming her already pinned hips. They were wild and untamed. Mindless and desperate, as were his breathy grunts that accompanied each one. She was quickly learning that matting didn't buffer blows well. For the first time, a small trickle of fear went through her, but it was too late to turn back. She'd be one bruised n' sore puppy if this didn't work. Nor did she think his pride would survive. So she had to make sure it did work. She reached around to the center of his back and stroked one finger down the length of spine.
It was as if she'd paralyzed him, except he still quivered beneath his skin. He remained propped up on his forearms, but his thrusts had stilled. He had yet to look up at her.
"Vegeta?"
"Again."
The word was the barest whisper, but it sent her soaring. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
She complied, enjoying the smoothness of his skin beneath her touch, the vibration of his purr against her belly. It seemed to refocus his desire, remind it of its purpose. He moved within her again with a mingled instinct and control.
He found his favored spot, the pulse-point of her throat; his bite and suck there wrapped her in a second haze of arousal. He pulled her head forward to his shoulder and through her dreamy eyes she drank in how beautiful his muscles played down his back, to his waist, to his . . . tail?
The sight brought her back to her senses. Not his tail, but what remained. A low furry brown stump, long healed over. She knew a Saiyan with a tail was a dangerous thing, a warrior, in the light of a full moon, who transformed into a giant ape-beast capable of massive destruction. She knew at the time Vegeta's tail was severed from him, he'd been in that state, fighting Goku and the others for control of Earth, and the only thing that saved her friends was its loss. But she had scant memory of what he'd looked like with it in his humanoid state, a brief glimpse when the media had tried to televise the beginnings of the battle, when he'd wrapped it around his waist, proud and assured. Part of her mourned for it.
Her fingers ached to touch what remained, partly in longing and partly to see if she could fulfill with the stump what he normally fulfilled with his full tail. Gingerly, she stroked its base, marveled at the silkiness of his fur. He bucked with a short gasp of surprise. She stroked it again.
"Wo-man," he rasped.
She smiled, wicked pleasure surged through her. At the tips of her fingers she held the power to make him beg. The knowledge was primal. She had ever intention of using it. She rounded the stump with the full length of her fingers. She felt the quake snake through his body. She yielded to her own urge.
"Say my name."
"W-W--?"
"Tsk. Wrong answer." She lightly raked the same path with her fingernails. The buck that followed scooted them a good six inches up the mat.
"Whoa, baby," Bulma whispered, continuing to swirl the top of his stump with her fingertip, "I just want my name. C'mon, you've said it once."
He pushed her upper body back down to the floor. He locked his gaze with hers. He was growling now through gritted teeth, bass-laced vibrations that came from deep in his gut, yet held an undertone of whimpers. A word was forming, she could tell. Would he?
"Woman."
Every ounce of defiance he had was held in that word. Even on the verge of an orgasm, he was still playing Prince of the Saiyans.
She felt her own stubborn streak rising, mingling with her reawakening lust. So help her, she'd be sore tomorrow, and the way his thrusts were pounding and grinding her back, with a few mat-burns for good measure. She began to wonder; would it really be worth it just to know for one moment, for one night, she'd made that proud, arrogant Saiyan prince her bitch?
Oh hell yeah.
She locked her ankles around his hips and took a deep breath. This was gonna be a doozy. Reaching, employing her fingernails again, she synchronized each graze with a contraction of her walls. And matched with the potent combination, spoke each sentence in drumbeat repetition.
"Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. . . ."
He was fighting, she could sense it, hear it in the strained hum coming form between his lips. But the whimpers were overpowering the growl. He was losing.
"Wo-Wob-B-B-Bu-mmm-Bul-maaaAAAAAH!"
His head fell back as he slammed and shuddered into her, one wave after another, long after her own orgasm came and left. He began to subside, horse cries sending the last of his ecstasy into oblivion. He collapsed on top of her, pressing her sweaty back and hips to the matting. She winced. Forget being sore tomorrow. She was sore right now.
He must've felt it, because he shifted his weight off of her, gently scooped her up, and cradled her with her back against his chest. She was stunned. Did Saiyans spoon?
He wasn't just holding her though. He was lapping the tip of his tongue against the bite he'd left on her shoulder, then the ones on her neck. He was . . . he was tending to her wounds. Such an affectionate gesture she would've never expected. It brought a smile to her face.
He finished his task, nuzzling her ear as he pulled her closer to him, resting his leg between hers. She lay there, feeling tiredness creep on her as his own breathing settled into the measured rhythm of sleep. She wanted to join him, but her mind wouldn't shut down as easily. It was too revved up on the euphoria of their joining, and bothered by small thoughts prodding randomly in the background. Where did they go from here. . . . They hadn't had protected sex. . . . What if. . . .
She squeezed her closed eyes even tighter, snuggling further into his arms for comfort. No, she wouldn't think about regrets or repercussions. Not now. That's what morning afters were for.
Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z and its characters are not mine, but belong to Akira Toriyama. This work of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.
Key: Double colons (::): Thought Plus signs (+): Computer's voice Slashes (/): Italics Asterisks (*): Bold/Underline
AN: Gomen. It's been a while, but at last, ch. 4 is done. Whew! As you may imagine, this wasn't easy to write, though, er, enjoyable nonetheless. Have fun! Heheheh.
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How could a head hurt so much? Never mind, it hurt too much to think of an answer.
Bulma opened her eyes, but quickly shut them against the glare. She'd seen enough to know she'd somehow gotten to her room. But wasn't she? Hadn't she been?
Thinking bad, Bulma. Thinking bad.
She groaned, wishing more than anything she could stick her head in the freezer. As if some genie had heard, a shadow fell across her and a cold damp cloth was pressed to her forehead.
"Thank you," she managed to croak.
"I didn't think it possible to crack that hard head of yours."
No way. Her hearing must be messed up too. She forced her eyes open. Vegeta sat next to her on the bed.
"Oh no. I've started hallucinating."
He leaned closer. "What do you think you see?"
"You. But it can't be. The prince of all Saiyans doesn't play nursemaid."
He smirked. "I'm a man of many talents."
This was way more complicated than her brain could handle right now. She tried to raise herself up but failed. "Keep still. You have a mild concussion, some scrapes and bruises, but you'll live."
"What happened?"
"Another bot malfunctioned. It wasn't fully deactivated and seems to have reacted to my raised energy and was about to fire. I destroyed it. Your father has concluded the voice recognition software is defective. All bots are offline until he can solve the problem."
Bits and pieces were coming to her, though the whole picture was still fuzzy. He'd been furious that she'd removed the gravity generator; she recalled that much. He'd been about to fire at her. She knew he wouldn't have hit her. Probably wanted to scare her.
What stood out most is that he'd saved her life.
"I should thank you for more than a compress, huh?"
His shrug was minimal. He had something on his mind.
"You block me at every turn, Bulma. Why."
She gasped. "You used my name." She was too stunned to answer the whole question.
He grew shy at that, looking off in front of him, but otherwise ignored it. "Answer me. Are you so fond of that clown Kakarrot that you'd sabotage my efforts? Are you still angry for the damage I caused when I first landed on your planet?"
She'd never seen him like this before. Solemn; almost defeated.
"That's not it. You just train so hard. I want you to take better care of yourself."
That seemed to surprise him. He dropped his gaze to his hands.
"What if you one day woke up to find everything you know, everything you take for granted -- your family, Capsule Corp -- gone. But you had one thing left."
Her head still throbbed, but this was crucial to him.
"I guess . . . I'd hold on to that one thing."
"My honor -- as a prince and a warrior -- is all I have. Being the best, the strongest is the only way to hold on to it."
"And training . . . is the only way you can the best . . . ."
She let out a tired sigh. A brief smile flitted across his features, but he said nothing else. He replaced the cloth on her head. The coolness felt so good, so soothing. She closed her eyes. She felt his weight shift from the bed from far away . . . .
When Bulma awoke, her room was dimly lit in the blue-gray of twilight. Vegeta's visit, their conversation, had been real, even if she still felt off-kilter. Something had changed between them. He didn't open up to just anyone. That he had to her brought a smile to her heart. And a decision to her mind.
She reached over to turn on her lamp. As she hoped, a bottle of Zylenol and a glass of water rested on her nightstand. She pulled herself up and grabbed the bottle. She was going to need the pain killer. She had work to do.
/=/=/=/
Force of habit had Vegeta headed for the training room for his evening session clad as usual in nothing more than the short pants the humans called Lycra, socks and laced-up shoes. There were two new additions. The soft cast and a slight limp. He couldn't understand why he was even bothering. He could get no fruitful work done in normal gravity, but neither could he sit and do nothing. He conceded he was unsure he could have gotten much done in heavy gravity with his injured leg, but the choice should have been his to make. Not hers. He supposed he could work on fine- tuning his movements. It was an adjustment, after all, growing accustomed to strength and agility forged in heavy gravity.
As he entered the room, he noted the ladder was still down. Hmph, why hadn't anyone bothered to put it in place? Then he caught the sound of a human's wince of pain. Bulma's. She couldn't be.
"Woman, get down here this instant!"
"I'm done anyway," came her muffled reply.
Her legs appeared out of the hole to the ceiling-bound utility space. She was two rungs down when he heard her hiss, saw her grab at her side. She wouldn't make it the rest of the way down the ladder. He shot up to take her in his arms and brought her to the floor, setting her gently on her feet.
"Who gave you permission to leave your sick bed," he barked.
"Look who's talking." She set down her toolbox. "I'm just bruised. You have a broken leg and I can't get you to sit for five minutes."
"I am a Saiyan. Such injuries are a trifle to me. You, Woman, need your rest."
"Aw, Vegeta." She tickled him under his chin. "I didn't know you cared." He jerked his head away. "I-I don't. I just . . . you need to recover in case something happens to Briefs. You are the only other mechanic."
"Yeah . . . sure." She giggled.
"Stop laughing at me!"
"You know what they say; laughter is the best medicine. Maybe I should stick around. Plenty of material here."
He looked at her more closely. "Just why are you here?"
She walked around him to the control panel. The ladder retracted at the press of a button; a panel slid closed to seal off the attic. Her fingers skipped along a few more buttons, and he heard a familiar sound.
+Gravity increase commencing. Safety measures on and functioning. Gravity level at 1G. 1.5G. 2G. Target gravity level reached.+ She pressed the buttons again and the gravity level returned to normal.
He was too stunned to think beyond one simple point. She had done this. For him.
"I meant what I said earlier, Vegeta. I'm not trying to keep you from your goals. I just want you to live to reach them. But I think I have an inkling now of what this really means to you. It's more than a goal. More than one- upmanship with Goku. It's your honor, as profound and as simple as that. I may not agree with your method; I don't know if I'll ever fully understand, but who am I to stand in your way."
She took slow steps toward him, resting a hesitant palm on his face. "This may not be worth much to you, coming from a weak human female, but . . . I believe in you. And believe it or not, I respect you. You will be a Super Saiyan. You'll always be the prince."
He waited for her to laugh, to prove this was some punch line to a joke he didn't know was being told. Yet she didn't. She stood there, her blue eyes shining up at him. No one had said words like that to him since his father. . . . No one else had cared. . . .
Some warmth, some feeling he'd long ago buried as weakness burst through layers of anger and bitterness as a sapling through the mire. Fragile. Sacred. Did he dare confide it to her.
His skin tingled where her thumb traced his cheek as she pulled her hand away. Tentative trust, old desire swirled through his veins in a heady, combustible blend. A faint whiff of her scent sparked the fire.
He stilled her retreating hand, resting his head once more in her palm, reveling in the heat of her skin. His senses were awakening, sharpening. Her scent, intense, assailed him, tingling his nerves alive. Blood surged in his veins, in his loins. Instinct demanded. He obeyed.
Her pulse beat faintly at her wrist. He yielded to the urge to taste her there. Bliss swirled around him at her intake of breath. Subtle saltiness greeted his tongue; the scent of her skin rose from the heated, dampened point. He sniffed along the length of her arm till he found the bend in her elbow. She tasted as sweet here.
He moved farther, resting his head beside hers. The musky change in her body tinted the air as he nipped and suckled her earlobe. Heat coursed through him. Ancient. Primal. Her soft sound, part sigh, part moan, greeted his own low rumble.
He wrapped his arm around her as she fell against him. He dragged his head away from her ear. Intense, darkened cobalt eyes gazed at him, hazy with desire. With his other hand he cupped her face. She nuzzled his palm. The ritual had begun. He waited.
In some distant part of Bulma's mind she couldn't believe this was happening. /Umuraqh/. She was no Saiyan, but she knew this was it. He'd chosen her as, as a mate. Her. Breath caught in her throat. It felt, he felt, so good.
She cupped his hand still resting against her cheek. His jet black eyes bore into her, but he made no other moves. ::What's he waiting for?::
He lifted his hand from her face, but held his arm near. He still stared at her, as if he were willing her to understand. She focused on his upraised arm. His wrist was level with her mouth.
This had all started with the wrist.
She turned her head, mimicking the path he'd taken up her arm; tasting, nipping her way to his ear lobe. A shiver of seductive power shot through her when she heard him stifle a deep groan.
She pulled her head back, only for a moment, before she yielded to the temptation to kiss him. Her mind barely registered the flavor of his mouth before he jerked away, taking a step back from her. He looked confused, as though she'd just sprouted an extra head. For whatever reason, this radical notion crossed her mind. Naw. No way. And yet.
"C'mon Vegeta," she sounded breathy to her own ears, "don't tell me you've never kissed a girl before."
"Kiss?" He didn't sound too steady either.
She was right the first time. "Yeah, kiss. Lips to lips." She grinned. "Or whatever part suits your fancy."
"Saiyans do not 'kiss'."
"Tell that to Goku. I've seen him slip ChiChi a smooch or two."
"I said Saiyans. Kakarrot abandoned his people and his ways long ago."
She replied, shaking her head, "Only you could blame a baby for getting bumped on the head and losing his memory."
She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. "But I don't want to talk about Goku. I wanna teach you how to kiss."
"But-"
"Shhh." She recaptured his lips with hers; firm, soft lips that sent a happy buzz down her body. He didn't respond at first, but then she flicked the pucker of his upper lip with her tongue. His hug crushed her to him. Now she had his attention.
He began to return her kisses, jerky at first, but he soon learned gentle kneading, the darting of tongues playing hide-and-seek.
"I thought," she panted, "Saiyans didn't kiss."
He was trying to get his own breathing under control, but before she could goad him more the world disappeared behind the wave of her shirt being yanked over her head, forcing her to drop her arms so he could finish removing it.
She was left to stand there, her torso bared expect for her bra. The removal of her shirt left her ponytail askew. She pulled the holder off, shaking her hair out before flipping it out of her face.
She nearly crumpled to the floor.
She'd been admired before, and it was a heady feeling. But this. . . . How could eyes so dark burn with such a fire. They bore through her, focused beams of some feral lust that left her burned and shivered in tandem. They scorched her where they rested. Her lips. Her breasts. The dip of her belly. The joint of her thighs.
Whimpers welled in her throat; moisture gathered between her legs; the first spasm shot through her walls.
His satisfied chuckle refocused her attention from her own fluttering body. Had his flame of black hair always crowned such a firm jaw. Had his muscles always run so taunt beneath his skin; broad shoulders drawn her eyes to such smooth, narrowed hips . . . sculpted flanks . . . straining, swollen cock. . . . Contractions begged for what he held for her beneath his clothes. Sweet God, she was about to come and he hadn't even touched her.
She didn't have time or the thinking ability to figure out how he'd so quickly turned the tables. He was looming over her in an instant, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of her shorts, holding her needy hips to his manhood. He nuzzled her neck near her pulse point. His purr, heavy with his arousal, intoxicated her. Dizzying pleasure tore her as his teeth nicked her skin.
Coherence came and went in flashes. Hot sucking at her nipple. Shimmer of fabric slipping down her legs. Sweat clinging to her skin. Slipping off his shorts. His stomach bucking against her mouth when she teased his navel. Her hips pressed into the mat, jerking as he teased her nub with his cock before sinking himself within her.
Every sinew in her had been pulled up and wound around the axis that throbbed inside her. His sweet hips rocked between hers, heightened by the friction of his soft cast against her thigh, forcing labored pants from her with each motion. A wanton greedy creature beat in her belly that would not stop until . . . until. . . .
Staccato sobs met the pulsing quake of her body. In the wake of their subsiding, euphoria washed over her limp limbs. She was his.
She enjoyed Vegeta's weight for only a moment. He pushed himself off of her, flopping onto his back. He radiated tense frustration, emphasized by his fist pounded into the mat.
Oh no. "Vegeta? Is it your leg?"
He shook his head once; His still aroused body was trembling. "It's not the same."
Sickness snaked through her gut. Had she done something wrong?
"What isn't?"
"Without my tail . . . it's not the same."
His tail? She honestly hadn't expected that. Goku's tail had always been so sensitive. Touching it had caused him more pain than anything else. But then, Goku'd lost his tail as a child. What if he'd had it past puberty. Until he'd become a man.
Vegeta remained on his back, eyes closed, trembling in a sheen of sweat, his fists clinched so hard she was afraid he'd crush his own hands. Apparently, losing your tail post-puberty left one sexually frustrated Saiyan. And what was a human female supposed to do about it? She clucked softly, resting a palm on his chest. The gesture had been half-conscious, meant to offer some scrap of comfort, but the sheer agony in his groan made her snatch it away. ::Think, Bulma. You can't leave him like this.:: Okay, a tail was an extension of the being's spine. Bone. Muscle. Nerves. Maybe, just maybe, she could treat his spine like an inner tail.
She took a deep breath. Even if this worked, her touches prior to it would torture him. If she knew she could make him come, she'd be enjoying herself. But what if she only made it worse? There was only one way to find out.
He had her wrist before the first fingertips grazed his abs. His voice, a drill sergeant bark on a good day, came in a dangerously rasped command.
"Leave me be, Woman."
"Shh. I only want to help."
"Your every . . . intake . . . of breath . . . assails me. Your . . . scent taunts me . . . already over . . . flowing the banks . . . of my self- control. You can't help. You're . . . the problem."
She apologized in her mind for what she was about to do to him.
His grip loosened easily when she pulled her wrist free. She got up, taking a few steps towards his outstretched feet. She didn't have to look at him to feel he'd relaxed that slight bit. He thought she was leaving. In that one moment, she took her chance.
She pivoted, swinging one leg over his hips and bending down in almost one movement. His shocked eyes flew open. She knew what he saw. Her kneeling there. Her turquoise hair playing peek-a-boo with her naked breasts; the same-colored apex of her thighs hovering dangerously close to his rigid, angled manhood.
"No-"
"But Vegeta, what if I'm also the cure."
She sheathed herself around him.
His tortured cry rent the air even as his hips thrust deeper. If she could just manage-
Umph! He'd rolled them. How? She didn't remember him sitting up, but there was no denying the force with which her back met the floor, matted or no. Nor was there any denying the force of his thrusts inside her, each one slamming her already pinned hips. They were wild and untamed. Mindless and desperate, as were his breathy grunts that accompanied each one. She was quickly learning that matting didn't buffer blows well. For the first time, a small trickle of fear went through her, but it was too late to turn back. She'd be one bruised n' sore puppy if this didn't work. Nor did she think his pride would survive. So she had to make sure it did work. She reached around to the center of his back and stroked one finger down the length of spine.
It was as if she'd paralyzed him, except he still quivered beneath his skin. He remained propped up on his forearms, but his thrusts had stilled. He had yet to look up at her.
"Vegeta?"
"Again."
The word was the barest whisper, but it sent her soaring. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
She complied, enjoying the smoothness of his skin beneath her touch, the vibration of his purr against her belly. It seemed to refocus his desire, remind it of its purpose. He moved within her again with a mingled instinct and control.
He found his favored spot, the pulse-point of her throat; his bite and suck there wrapped her in a second haze of arousal. He pulled her head forward to his shoulder and through her dreamy eyes she drank in how beautiful his muscles played down his back, to his waist, to his . . . tail?
The sight brought her back to her senses. Not his tail, but what remained. A low furry brown stump, long healed over. She knew a Saiyan with a tail was a dangerous thing, a warrior, in the light of a full moon, who transformed into a giant ape-beast capable of massive destruction. She knew at the time Vegeta's tail was severed from him, he'd been in that state, fighting Goku and the others for control of Earth, and the only thing that saved her friends was its loss. But she had scant memory of what he'd looked like with it in his humanoid state, a brief glimpse when the media had tried to televise the beginnings of the battle, when he'd wrapped it around his waist, proud and assured. Part of her mourned for it.
Her fingers ached to touch what remained, partly in longing and partly to see if she could fulfill with the stump what he normally fulfilled with his full tail. Gingerly, she stroked its base, marveled at the silkiness of his fur. He bucked with a short gasp of surprise. She stroked it again.
"Wo-man," he rasped.
She smiled, wicked pleasure surged through her. At the tips of her fingers she held the power to make him beg. The knowledge was primal. She had ever intention of using it. She rounded the stump with the full length of her fingers. She felt the quake snake through his body. She yielded to her own urge.
"Say my name."
"W-W--?"
"Tsk. Wrong answer." She lightly raked the same path with her fingernails. The buck that followed scooted them a good six inches up the mat.
"Whoa, baby," Bulma whispered, continuing to swirl the top of his stump with her fingertip, "I just want my name. C'mon, you've said it once."
He pushed her upper body back down to the floor. He locked his gaze with hers. He was growling now through gritted teeth, bass-laced vibrations that came from deep in his gut, yet held an undertone of whimpers. A word was forming, she could tell. Would he?
"Woman."
Every ounce of defiance he had was held in that word. Even on the verge of an orgasm, he was still playing Prince of the Saiyans.
She felt her own stubborn streak rising, mingling with her reawakening lust. So help her, she'd be sore tomorrow, and the way his thrusts were pounding and grinding her back, with a few mat-burns for good measure. She began to wonder; would it really be worth it just to know for one moment, for one night, she'd made that proud, arrogant Saiyan prince her bitch?
Oh hell yeah.
She locked her ankles around his hips and took a deep breath. This was gonna be a doozy. Reaching, employing her fingernails again, she synchronized each graze with a contraction of her walls. And matched with the potent combination, spoke each sentence in drumbeat repetition.
"Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. . . ."
He was fighting, she could sense it, hear it in the strained hum coming form between his lips. But the whimpers were overpowering the growl. He was losing.
"Wo-Wob-B-B-Bu-mmm-Bul-maaaAAAAAH!"
His head fell back as he slammed and shuddered into her, one wave after another, long after her own orgasm came and left. He began to subside, horse cries sending the last of his ecstasy into oblivion. He collapsed on top of her, pressing her sweaty back and hips to the matting. She winced. Forget being sore tomorrow. She was sore right now.
He must've felt it, because he shifted his weight off of her, gently scooped her up, and cradled her with her back against his chest. She was stunned. Did Saiyans spoon?
He wasn't just holding her though. He was lapping the tip of his tongue against the bite he'd left on her shoulder, then the ones on her neck. He was . . . he was tending to her wounds. Such an affectionate gesture she would've never expected. It brought a smile to her face.
He finished his task, nuzzling her ear as he pulled her closer to him, resting his leg between hers. She lay there, feeling tiredness creep on her as his own breathing settled into the measured rhythm of sleep. She wanted to join him, but her mind wouldn't shut down as easily. It was too revved up on the euphoria of their joining, and bothered by small thoughts prodding randomly in the background. Where did they go from here. . . . They hadn't had protected sex. . . . What if. . . .
She squeezed her closed eyes even tighter, snuggling further into his arms for comfort. No, she wouldn't think about regrets or repercussions. Not now. That's what morning afters were for.