WARNING: This chapter contains mature content of a sexual nature. A conscious effort to avoid excess lewdness was made, but reader discretion is nevertheless advised.
Inactivity had diminished Vegeta's appetite, and when he had returned to the Capsule Corp. mansion, he could hardly finish off even a quarter of the refrigerator's contents in spite of the urge he had to gorge himself. After eating his fill, he had wandered over to the laboratory, and he had watched Dr. Briefs from afar, gauging how far along he had come on the gravity simulator's repair and modification. As well as this, he had wanted to assure himself that the woman would keep her word to aid her father.
He had sensed the appearance of the woman's energy on the premises of the mansion approximately three hours after he had arrived there himself. Although he had contemplated seeking her out and personally ensuring that she would do as he had bidden her, he had ultimately decided against it. The memory of what had transpired that afternoon had brought him to that conclusion. He had developed absolutely no pressing desire to lose hold on his composure in her presence once again. He had determined that, if he confronted her, he would prepare himself beforehand for whatever move she might make. The woman had a talent for teasing private information out of him, he had to admit; on whatever future occasions he might face her, he would surrender nothing but what he allowed of his own free will.
Unsure of how to stave off ennui for the remainder of the evening, Vegeta had retired to his room early. On impulse, he had rifled through every drawer of both his dresser and his nightstand, removing their contents, organizing them, and then replacing them according to a prescribed order. After a shower, he had gone to bed, and he had slept fitfully through the night.
When he woke, dread cast its shadow over him. With the gravity simulator still out of commission, this day's events would likely repeat those of the previous one. He decked himself in his armor, and he sat down at the kitchen table, sipping his customary coffee and downing a couple plates of food. He half expected Yamcha to appear as he had yesterday. Thankfully, though, the man was nowhere to be seen or sensed.
Vegeta considered training in the desert, but he reconsidered when he remembered how much difficulty he had had focusing there. Instead, he figured he could spend his time flying and testing his speed; doing so required a considerable amount of strain, but not nearly as much strict attention as wielding raw energy. Upon finishing his breakfast, he left forthwith.
He found the atmosphere cold, and bitterly so the further he ascended. Luckily, his suit worked sufficiently well to protect him from the elements. Only his face stung as the frosty air licked across it. In spite of this, though, Vegeta felt abnormally lighthearted; in fact, his mood had remained relatively serene ever since he had drunk his coffee. Casually, Vegeta remembered how the woman had brought him a jacket and warm drink on that chilly night. It struck him as odd that his mind had bothered to store away something so trivial in his memory.
As he beamed through the sky, hours passed; he had kept track of his changing position in relation to the rotation of the earth and where the sun hung over the horizon. If he turned back now and maintained his current speed, he would arrive at Capsule Corp. just after dusk; it seemed convenient enough. He could eat something, take a shower, then sleep; his sleep would likely grant him more rest than it had the previous nights, for he had not remained entirely idle.
Once he lighted on Capsule Corp.'s grounds, Vegeta decided that, if the woman's father had not completed the simulator, he would fly tomorrow as he had today, for he could perform such training successfully even with minor distractions. Entering the kitchen, he found a note on the refrigerator. It read: Hi, Vegeta! It's Bulma's mom! We saved lots of leftovers for you! Look on the bottom shelf. I guess you're training somewhere else while you're waiting to use that ship. You're so dedicated, but I still miss seeing you every day! Come visit me sometime, and we'll have tea! XOXO. Vegeta did not care to guess the meaning of the "XOXO." He found the ample leftovers and scarfed them down. As he ate, he felt heat return to his chilled extremities. Following his meal, he disappeared into his guestroom.
Immediately after closing the door, he stripped, donned the shorts he would sleep in, and threw a towel over his shoulder in preparation for his nightly shower. Tonight in particular, he looked forward to it, having already decided that he would indulge himself by taking longer than usual. There was no better way to spend the remainder of his evening. Imagining the sensation of hot water pouring down his back, his flesh still tender from his prolonged exposure to the cold, he made his way down the hall.
He hesitated for a moment when he saw that Bulma leaned against the bathroom door, blocking him. Her ankles crossed in front of her, she wore only the lace-trimmed flame-red nightgown that he had seen adorning her body the other day. He did not want to encounter her so soon, and when he did encounter her, he would have preferred that meeting be on his terms alone. He feared that she would do something or other to spoil the first decent day he had had in a long time.
"Stand aside, woman," he grumbled, resting his hand on the doorknob. He would avoid her now if he could.
Smiling wryly, Bulma grasped his forearm. "Hey, Vegeta."
He could have easily pushed her aside, but instead he merely studied her curious posture and expression. "Why are you here?" he asked sternly. "Has your father finished the repairs?"
"Nope, not yet." Her thumb stroked the underside of his arm idly. "I want to show you something," she added.
Vegeta's eyes narrowed. She had some scheme, and he would find it out.
"I cleaned my room," she continued, her tone taking on an indistinct throatiness. "Don't you want to see? You said it was really dirty before."
Instantly, Vegeta understood. She was offering herself to him. Such offers never came freely; his mind raced to guess what she could possibly desire from him. It almost made him angry to think that she would use his recent madness as a means of extortion.
"Come on," she urged, pulling him toward her bedroom.
He followed her. Whatever she might want, he reasoned, she surely did not have the might to make him surrender it. Vegeta grinned, realizing that he would get something he desired—and he did desire it, terribly; it astonished him how quickly and easily he acknowledged this fact—and that he would pay no price.
Locking it carefully, Bulma shut the door behind them, then rushed to turn on a dim bedside lamp. "See? Clean," she said, pointing but indicating nothing in particular.
The clutter that had littered the room had all but disappeared or assumed its proper place. Impressively, the entire enclosed space seemed to have grown larger. The woman, who now stood smugly at the room's center, had even dusted every surface open to the air. Vegeta stepped toward her after folding his towel and laying it atop a dresser.
Beneath his right foot, the plush carpet felt strangely rigid and crusty. Once he jerked his toes away, he examined the spot whose light tan contrasted with the carpet's beige fibers. "Woman, what is this?"
Bulma glanced at the stain, then blushed. "That's peanut butter. I was doing some work on the floor, and I dropped my sandwich, okay? Deal with it."
"This room is not clean!" Vegeta exclaimed without thinking.
"I spent hours picking up, so just be quiet." She paused, then advanced on the Saiyan, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist. "The room inspection isn't why you're here anyway. You know that. We got interrupted yesterday." She kissed him. As she did so, she petted the smooth muscle on each of his sides.
He forgot about the carpet. Taking her jaw in his hand, he pried her mouth open and deepened their kiss. Nothing he had ever tasted likened to the way she tasted, but even though her flavor struck him as utterly new and foreign, it nevertheless seemed entirely native. Unknowingly, he had thirsted for her for as long as he could remember. When she broke away from him, his chest ached with frustrated longing. He would have to struggle much harder than he had anticipated to maintain his composure in her presence.
Her hands wandered over his stomach, following the peaks and valleys of his sculpted flesh. "Damn, Vegeta," she mused. "You're hot." The tips of her fingers caught the waistband of his shorts.
Vegeta tracked her glazed, straying eyes with his own. She put on a very convincing show of flattery. "I know what you're trying to do," he stated austerely.
"No shit," Bulma laughed softly. "I have hard evidence you're okay with it, too." Her little finger teased his erection, and she tugged slightly on his shorts. "How about you take these off? Unless you want me to do it."
The woman's confidence mystified him. "Do as you please. You seem to enjoy yourself overmuch," he scoffed.
"What's so weird about that?" Kneeling in front of him, she peeled the fabric away from his hips. "Damn," she mused again.
He did not answer her. Instead, he merely watched her take him into her hands. She seemed to know what she was doing; only once or twice had he come across women who had known how to handle him outright without any instruction. The woman's skill testified, first, to her experience, and second, to the apparent similarity between Saiyan and Earthling anatomy.
She glanced up at him, fluttering her eyelashes. "It's okay to show that you like it, you know," she hummed. Tempting a reaction from him, she brushed his tip with her tongue. The sensation was electric, and he shut his eyes tightly.
"Remove that ridiculous nightdress," he commanded.
"Whatever you say, Your Highness." Bulma pulled the red satin over her head, tossed it to the floor, and revealed that she wore nothing beneath it. Not once did her expectant, smoldering gaze leave his frozen one.
Vegeta's breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed as subtly as he could. Viewing images of Saiyan women produced one effect, but the real presence of a woman—wholly indistinguishable from a Saiyan female apart from her energy signature and obvious lack of a tail—produced another effect entirely. Lust kindling every vein, he regarded her ravishing form as she stood, turned, and crawled onto her bed. He could hardly believe she existed. Unable to remember how he had gotten there, he found himself lying beside her on the mattress, fondling her breasts and nibbling her collarbone. Never before had he delighted in a woman's body as he did now.
"Mm," Bulma moaned. "Having fun?" She stroked and rustled his hair with one hand and caressed his hard shoulders with the other.
"Be quiet," he growled.
Suddenly, she frowned. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"I told you to be quiet." He pinned her beneath him and parted her legs with his knee.
"Afraid someone will hear us or something?"
Vegeta only scowled at her.
"Whatever. You're weird," she sighed, reaching around his neck to bring him down to her lips.
He relented and returned her kiss forcefully. With the passing of each second, he could feel ferocity build within him. His hand drifted from her breast down along the curve of her hip, stopping at the peak of her thighs. She groaned loudly into his mouth as he tested her slick entrance, and on impulse, she ground herself against his hand. In response, Vegeta broke their kiss and glowered at her. "Be still," he hissed.
"What?" she asked breathlessly.
He ignored the question and alternatively focused on guiding himself into her. Before he could cry out, he clenched his jaw tightly and crushed any sound he might have made between his teeth. Although the woman moaned into his ear, he hardly heard her, overwhelmed by sensation. Taking hold of her waist with a fearsome rage, he remembered his task.
Bulma reached for one of his hands. "Vegeta—touch me," she panted, "touch me—here." Futilely, she urged his arm upward.
He swatted her hand away, then caught her wrist, restraining it. "No," he heaved. "Shut—up." Apparently, his grip hurt her, for her expression betrayed pain, and an anguished shrillness tainted her cries. Hoping she would fall silent, he released her. The instant he did so, her hands flew to his hips, her nails raking his skin.
"Vegeta," she gasped. "Please."
His blood seethed; he felt its heat in his eyes. "Why are you so"—he inhaled sharply—"fucking loud?" he snarled. "Compose yourself!"
"Vegeta," she begged. She held him tightly, her ankles crossed behind his back.
He gave up trying to silence her. Delicious tension, approaching euphoria, drowned out all other sensory stimuli, and he no longer cared what she did. Hiding his face in the hollow of her shoulder, he gasped out his climax, his voice ragged with pleasure. Panting against her skin, he stilled to catch his breath.
"Did you just—?"
Vegeta forced himself into composure before looking up to glare at her. Only with difficulty could he maintain that glare, however; a deep satisfaction tempted him to soften his expression, but he had already resolved to refuse the woman that satisfaction. Before he gave into such a temptation, he crept away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned to her.
Her weight shifted on the mattress. Once he sensed her hand on his shoulder, he stood up and went to fetch the towel he had lain folded on top of her dresser.
"Hey—wait!"
He peered askance over his shoulder. If he was not mistaken, her mien consisted of traces of frustration and anger. When he met her eyes, however, she started and veiled her agitation with a smile. Vegeta almost grinned to himself at the reception of that concrete confirmation of the woman's defeat. Whatever she had wanted, she seemed to have lost her opportunity to seize it from him. He could puzzle out what precisely it had been at his leisure.
"Don't you want to stay?" she purred seductively, patting the sheet beside her with one hand and stroking herself with the other. "I'm okay with messing around a bit more if you are."
"I take showers at this hour," he replied flatly as he wrapped the towel around his waist. Swiftly, he slipped out of the room. Just as swiftly, he escaped into the bathroom, and he took particular caution in locking the door.
Author's Note: Three things this time! First, a question. I like to do a bit of art occasionally, and my story has inspired me to do some illustrating. I thought I'd ask you, the readers, which scene from The Mistaken Wish you would most like to see. For a preview of my personal artistic style, simply look to the cover art I posted for this story.
Second, may I remind you again to check out Frozen Truths, a story about Vegeta's past under Frieza by LadyLuckRogue, a good writer friend of mine! After talking to LadyLuckRogue and brainstorming with her, I can promise you that Frozen Truths will prove a gripping, epic tale! She already has the prologue and first chapter posted. If you like The Mistaken Wish, you may like Frozen Truths, and you should check it out!
Lastly, I reiterate that, after I finish The Mistaken Wish (don't worry, though, I still have a ways to go!), I hope to add a bonus chapter in which I answer frequently asked questions pertaining to my story. I thought it would be a cool way to interact with my readers and give them a way to enjoy the story in new ways even after I finish it. If you have a question, don't hesitate to ask in a review or in a personal message. I'll give you a couple examples of some questions to get you guys thinking: "How do you choose chapter titles?" "Why did you write The Mistaken Wish from Vegeta's perspective?" or even "What have been your greatest influences as a writer?"