Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Touch ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: As much as I want it, Vegeta isn't legally mine, but we both just sneak behind the owners and have fun.

 

Author Note: I really want to take this chance to thank every single person who's reviewed this story. I do take each word to heart and am more than honored to write for you. I suppose this could be considered a lemon (I just had to; they deserved to have some fun!), but it's really relevant to plot. In any case, you've been warned…

 

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

By Caprice

 

Chapter 5

 

Step 6 - Touch

 

 

Chocolate dipped cookies that melt in your tongue. Silk charmeuse sliding smoothly against heated skin… musk and sweat intermingled in a single climactic second of bliss…

 

Decadent thoughts assaulted Bulma with a vengeance, speaking a sultry language of the flesh. She was a victim to the fecundity of her brain and the excitation of her body as they both clamored like thirsty children in need of instant gratification. She grappled to gain control of her mind, a force of nature that belonged to a girl with an IQ of over 200. Not an easy thing to do by far. It usually run at a million miles per hour, and it took both skill and temperance to govern it. Truth is such brainpower made her denizen to a world of the miscomprehended, a solitary place that only the lustful of life and passion inhabited.

 

Yes, that's what she was, a genius. Certified by Yale, Harvard and Princeton, daughter of a nobel prize winner.

 

And about to loose the battle with her wits.

 

Just were the hell was that lighter? She was sure she'd left it here somewhere around the thick cream colored candles that graced the cherry wood table sitting against the wall. They were still unlit, due to the lack of something to right that wrong with. It forced them to remain wrapped in the moonlit coziness of the living room, which was enough for her to look even though the search was being ineffective. His penetrating gaze on her back, as heated as beams of fire against her skin, made finding the damn thing a task of gargantuan proportions. She had been careful to set up the stage, accounting for all the minimal variables that could pose a problem and yet it seemed the gods were somehow playing tricks on her.

 

She cursed under her breath, suddenly aware of how the present predicament seemed right on track to maim and kill the event. Was she going to have to stomp back into the kitchen and find a box of matches? Talk about passion killing. It was a rustic replacement for her elegant lighter, picked for this singular event alone… it was long and ornate, chosen to make her hand look as ladylike as possible. That is if she could locate the stupid device. She had already lifted this particular candle at least ten times. Did it sprout little feet and take off? There, behind mamma's moth orchids… no, she had looked here already. There had to be a…

 

“Woman, why are you acting foolishly?”

 

The suffocation of her search made her patience snap. She whipped around and grumbled. “Believe me, you seriously wouldn't understand. It's not just a Chikyuu thing, it's a woman thing too.” She knelt on the plush carpet, forgetting any pretenses of being a lady, oblivious to the fact that he had a very good view of her thighs and bottom as she resumed her quest.

 

He was leaning against the far wall, one leg across the other, arms in the same fashion against his chest. He rolled his eyes and muttered something unintelligible, consciously avoiding the instinctive need to slide his pupils in the direction of her petite little body, as it knelt flustered and on all fours.

 

“Is this some sort of prosaic earth ritual your backwards people partake in? If that's the case, spare me the tribal dancing and spirit beckoning.”

 

Bulma ceased her efforts to glance back at him. She pushed the sudden surprise at his use of a word as cavalier as “prosaic” to the back of her mind (he had certainly been finely schooled as a member of royalty) and ignored her instinctive appreciation in lieu of a fitting comeback. His derisive tone had been enough to fire up her eyes.

 

She frowned, regarding him beneath strands of aquamarine hair that stuck to her face. “Just because we don't prance around the galaxy like pompous assholes subjecting innocent cultures in a primitive display of testosterone doesn't mean we are not refined. You said you wouldn't get in the way, remember? So if Saiya-jins much rather hump like gorillas, I am sorry to burst your bubble.”

 

He pressed his lips into a thin line and gave her a sideways glance before issuing an arrogant `hmph'.

 

So like the very first time I spoke to him... She felt a thrill at the sudden remembrance of that last day the sun shone on Namek after news of Frieza's fate was final. Had it been the skin tight armor or the venomous quips? She wasn't quite sure, but she was now ready to admit she'd wanted to ravish him right then and there and to hell with the spectators.

 

She shook her thoughts away at the more pressing urgency of finding that elusive piece of junk that refused to show itself. It had to be here, somewhere.

 

Well, Kami-sama, it was good while it lasted, a good zero minutes. She cringed internally at her own despaired words of defeat, but before she was able to follow that thought with more self-pity, the room just…. changed. Silence was interrupted by a spontaneous flaring up of the modest number of candles around it. She rose to her feet, eyes widened in unveiled amazement at the sudden combustion that made each flame look like a little torch. The fire was alive, flickering with grand intensity, in fact, perhaps a bit too much.

 

“Did you… do that?”

 

The corner of his lip lifted up in an almost imperceptible smirk. His arms were still crossed, but he'd been able to manage that simple trick with the immeasurable power of his Ki. “You should have said something ten minutes ago. Don't have all the time in the world, onna.”

 

Well, to hell with that. She was going to take as much time as needed. He had to be tamed in the Chikyuu-jin arts of horizontal dancing and she didn't care if it took her one minute or a full year to do so.

 

She glanced around the room, taking in the wild, unnatural brightness that possessed each stick. “A little less Vegeta… bring it down a notch.”

 

His brow creased at her command to soften the candlelight level, but after a couple of seconds of a knee jerk reaction to never comply with anyone's orders, he acquiesced.

 

Slowly but surely the flames narrowed to normalcy as he let them burn with their own natural intensity. She sighed in relief, already feeling her initial apprehension recede like a tidal wave. It left nothing but a breezy serenity, the special kind preceding a storm, mingled with a childish eagerness to finally be free to play with his body.

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him, feeling bouts of desire extend and multiply throughout her limbs. He remained there, impassive, like the sculpture of some god of war ebbing dark magnetism through his every pore. She suddenly swallowed---had somehow forgotten to do so as she looked into his eyes. She could have stayed like that forever and not mind the seasons changing but she slowly reminded herself of the bigger picture. Taking her eyes off him unwillingly, she strode around the room to gather up a couple of big, soft silk cushions.

 

The room glowed very softly, shadows lining his figure as he fastened his eyes on her, unable to move a muscle. There was no sign of the inner battle he fought, as he wrestled with an awkward feeling of sudden trepidation. This frail creature was the only one to posses the unholy capacity of immobilizing his powerful 5 foot 3, and that thought alone was enough to threaten his very sanity.

 

…and what about that sickly slippery feeling toiling inside his stomach? It was never like this, not the first time he'd done it, not any single time afterwards. He'd always known exactly what to do, was born with it hardwired in his Saiyan blood. That knowledge had given him confidence, the kind he'd been sure would never waver. Yet today… well today was just one fucking travesty. It had been exceedingly easy to find that sort of physiological release in the past when he'd needed it. After all, he'd realized a universal truth in women's particular attraction towards uniforms, bad guys and well, royalty. At least that's what he attributed the wild response to his touch to. He just hadn't cared they'd liked it, considered it a nuisance for some reason. Instead, he'd always been focused on getting it over with as quickly as physically possible, in and out, almost literally.

 

Truth is he'd felt tainted, dirty, after joining with Frieza's sex slaves, as beautiful and skillful as they were. And the urge to keep it quiet, to be fast and discreet was always his priority. Radditz and Nappa didn't have to know about his very private affairs, the things that made him blood and flesh and ultimately perhaps even a bit weak. He'd often cursed it, that undeniable and sometimes all-consuming maleness he was made of. It was what had pushed him to seek it out, a need so raw and powerful it would have driven him insane had he not. He'd blamed himself each time, before and after, but gods, he'd just really needed a good fuck every now and then. As simple as that.

 

And now this… he saw the warmth of the candlelight play with the smooth curves of her body as she strode across the rolling plush carpet to throw the cushions on the couch… this was inexplicable. Whatever this witch had given him to drink while he stayed here had the capacity of… she smiled, her face lighting up mesmerizingly, making him forget his train of thought. She glided very slowly towards him, like a sleek cat stalking an infinitely helpless creature. He'd be damned, a million times damned if she thought he'd be preyed on.

 

His face was slightly turned, as if unable to face her full on and he cursed himself again for that, not letting a single ounce of his complication show on his visage.

 

“Take off your jacket.” He looked at her lips, full and curvy and looking as ripe as the gejaku berries he'd so loved when he'd been nothing but a six year old back in Vegita sei.

 

“Take it off…” She husked as she approached him, and his eyes turned to regard her straight on. They were suddenly brave, already beginning to dive into her deep blue seas.

 

“Or else I'll do it myself…” She teased, getting close enough to touch him. She grazed her finely boned fingers up the collar of the Capsule Corp. jacket she'd given him herself. She'd even dressed him, she'd fed him, kept him, and now she was going to… Fool. Fool, Fool. What the hell was he doing?

 

He didn't say a word making it that more difficult to read his expression. “Don't you want to feel me naked against your body…” She coaxed, almost breathing the words more than saying them.

 

When it became apparent she'd just have to take matters into her own hands, she gripped his collar, ready to pull it off. And all of a sudden, an insanely strong hand flew up to grab her wrist and hold it in place. Her eyes jumped up to meet his. Whatever he was thinking and feeling it must have been one hell of a maelstrom for his face had become nothing short of undecipherable. Sometimes she just cursed the complexity of his character. That multi-faceted black diamond sure was hard as hell to chink.

 

“I thought we had a deal, Prince Vegeta.”

 

His expression softened minutely as he looked into her eyes, and his lips slip open but no words came out. She didn't really need any. It was a game, worthy of her mastermind, and the prize was too much to pass on.

 

“We had a deal… and you can't break it Oujisama, not a thing royalty would do.” She jerked her wrist away, not in the least unnerved by his intransigency. She backed down a few steps, eyes never leaving his. So it was a battle until the very end? Who gets to be vulnerable first, naked, skin exposed to the other… what a difficult man. Getting him to go down was exquisite, intricate, and full of subtleties.

 

She couldn't care less about pride today. Her skin was already tingly and he hadn't even touched her. He was already sliding into her very slowly, caressing her impudently with his smoldering dark eyes. God, what kind of aliens were the elites, completely able of almost doing you with their gaze alone. Or was it him, was it Vegeta?

 

Her heart thumped against her chest. The twisted fetish of how the terror of all four corners of the galaxy stood there, raking her with his eyes was enough to make her womb quiver. She slipped a strap off her satin shoulders, slowly… then a second one, pushing the delicate top down her chests, waist, hips, unto the floor. And she ran her fingers through her hair, big sensuous curls falling over ivory skin. Bulma had to suppress a sigh of utter satisfaction when she saw his eyes immediately dart towards the big round breasts that now stood perked, pointing in his direction.

 

She saw his throat move as he swallowed, and her smile widened. “If you're not going to touch me, I'll just start myself, if you don't mind.” Her sultry voice twined around his body, the sudden energy permeating the room already turning her knees to jelly.

 

Don't touch what's mine… He wanted to say it, to yell it out loud, and yet he was speechless once again. Had she spun her magic and rendered him mute as well as frozen? Gods… what a hypnotic little bitch this lowly woman was. How intoxicating.

 

She licked her lower lip… grabbed the edge of the frilly lace that still covered her heated core and slid it down rounded hips as she swayed them sensuously. Fucking woman, did she have to pull it down so incredibly slowly? Make the torture last this long? It seemed like an eternity since he'd last seen a woman, and never one so, delicate? Short, delicate and supple, like a china doll.

 

The garment pooled at her feet and she stood there like the wicked statue of some sex goddess. He felt his groin tighten, making him nearly wince in pain. He slid his eyes down her body, appreciating every inch of her nudity. Was this coloring even normal? This firm pearlescent skin and long flowing blue-green hair he'd never encountered in his escapades.

 

His thoughts were cut short as she approached a table and grabbed a little black bottle. She was acting as if she was alone, and as much as it enraged him, it also sent agonizing pangs of wanton through his muscles to see her go after her own pleasure so daringly. He still couldn't move, too engrossed in desecrating her body with his eyes.

 

She propped a dainty feet on the couch and twisted the cap off the tiny bottle. She flicked her hair, throwing her head back as she poured what looked like oil down the center of her chest. The long viscous liquid kissed her skin, licked it, as it glided southward until it reached her navel. She capped and threw the container aside before resorting to something he was sure would haunt him for life. She smoothed the slick substance over her creamy round breasts, squeezing them with skillful hands. She rubbed the hardened peaks; his own self-awareness suddenly forgotten as he took in the bouncy, glistening globes. His mouth turned to cotton when one wicked hand glided down her stomach, pressing on her skin until it arrived between her thighs.

 

Bulma suppressed the overwhelming need to chuckle when the entire candle display flared up instantaneously, flames flickering furiously. She looked at him with a playful smile, and his face flushed, troubled eyes averting hers as he grated his teeth in sudden embarrassment. He quickly resorted to diminishing the lights, struggling to make the intensities match as they all burned unevenly. She decided to gracefully ignore his slip and go back to her sinful ministrations, exploring her own heat the same way she'd done a dozen times before, wishing it was his fingers, his tongue, caressing her.

 

After much effort, candlelight normalized, allowing him to refocus on the way her fingers slid in and out. Her hand cupped the few silken lilac strands to press on a very eroticized and wet womanhood and he felt something twist mercilessly in his gut. She started grabbing, playing, tugging, hips moving eagerly against her own touch.

 

She liked it… whatever thing Chikyuu jin females had there it must be particularly sensitive to the power of touch. His own perverse mind wandered off, imagining how it'd react to the tiniest buzz of his ki. No sound escaped her mouth, yet her face… it was scrunched in a sublime expression of supreme delight. Her lips parted, her breath quickened, as she squeezed one breast gently, rolling its hardened nub while her other hand played wickedly inside her tight folds.

 

He clenched his fists and felt the warm thick feeling of blood as his nails broke his skin. His heart beat like thunder, his mind, gods… his mind was rendered stupid.

 

Her fingers moved quicker, inside, her scent got headier, skin burning. And it was too much. His erection was so big and hard it was excruciatingly painful and it nearly threatened to explode out of his pants. He felt the uncontainable need to assert his authority, irritated at her boldness to touch that succulent part of the body that now belonged to him.

 

He strode across the ample empty space of the room to stand behind her and she smiled to herself, holding the remains of her self control together. She was already swollen, every pore in her skin crying for him in unabated desperation. She wanted to moan his name, to cry it in the middle of climax. The need to be his was so violent it lanced her right between the thighs, turning the entire world into nothing but an erotic thunderstorm.

 

She felt his jacket fall on the carpet, and her stomach flip flopped. His shirt followed, she couldn't see for herself, but heard its rustling as it free fell. Oh God, she was about to be had by this very evil man, this alien force that could blow entire planets to cosmic dust. The most sordid part was the fact that the thought did little more than kindle her fire.

 

Her mouth watered, breath ragged as she leaned back into his chest, closing her eyes, still touching herself. She nearly whimpered at the sensation of his bare chest against the tingling skin of her back. Why wasn't he touching her, Kami, she needed him, so bad she was about to turn into a sobbing mess.

 

She placed her hands on his powerful thighs and glided them up and down as hard as she could. She had to swallow a whine of disappointment at the barrier of his black skin tight pants, their only charm the way they allowed her to feel every bulge and crevice of his muscles. They also let her feel the tremor of his skin as she rubbed her palms on them massaging and squeezing him.

 

He pressed his hardness against her back, as rigid as steel against her frail little body. He wanted to tear her apart, to sink inside her as deep as possible and die there. And still he didn't touch her, still held back driving her to the brink of insanity. Bulma leaned her head on his shoulder, tilting it slightly to expose the tender silk of her neck to him, his hot and humid breath grazing her skin. He licked her earlobe once, making her jolt in response.

 

“Yes… oh” her moan was soft and broken. Was desire meant to be this intense? She was loosing her mind, all she wanted was, him, him, him. One single touch had been enough to send lighting bolts across her entire body.

 

He groaned in her ear, a sound so low and masculine it sent thrills down her arms and legs. “Chikyuu-jin, you're a thread away from being thrown against the floor and savaged mercilessly. You really shouldn't have touched yourself. I forbid you to do so.”

 

His deep, velvety voice tumbled Bulma into the pit of sweet abandon. She turned around and whispered against his lips. “Asshole. I don't take orders from anyone”.

 

He smirked against her lips. “That makes two of us. I think we have a problem, onna.”

 

He was completely unprepared. Years upon years of threading darkness and violence, eons taunting life and death didn't come close to the feeling of her silken hands on his muscles as she ran her hands up his chest. His pectorals tensed when she grazed his nipples, and her hands indulged in the taut feel of what she'd coveted for months. It felt every bit as good as she'd dreamt in the dark hours of the night, in fact it felt a lot better.

 

She slid a knee between his and whispered. “Touch me.” Her breath tantalized his lips and he swallowed hard again. His biceps bulged as he continued to tighten his fists, driving his nails further into his skin. Blood dripped to stain the immaculate white bristles of the carpet and turn them scarlet.

 

She smoothed her hands down the muscles of his arms until she reached his wrists, all the while nipping the base of his neck. She licked the slight saltiness of his skin with her tongue, making him exhale through his nostrils. Her big, breasts were pressed against the hot skin of his chest. Fuck, What the hell was wrong with him? Why not give her what she wanted for once if it was in his best interest? To hell if he hurt her… why not touch her… Didn't they have a deal? Take her… now. Take her dammit, fast and hard and all night...

 

She moaned against his skin as her tongue twirled over the powerful muscles of his throat. “Vegeta…”

 

She held his wrists and felt the strain in his arms as his entire frame tensed. Her knee wedged itself further between his, her belly pressing against the rock hard bulge he wouldn't have been able to conceal if he'd wanted to.

 

She licked and sucked, savored his jaw line, neck, shoulders… soft lips all over his upper body. Vegeta exhaled, growling and muttering something under his breath. He lost the battle with himself and his hands moved before he knew it, searing the tender skin of her hips as he slid them upwards to hold her waist in place.

 

She could feel the blood on his hands tainting her body, literally, and she moaned against his shoulders. She pulled his forearms tighter around her so his hands could roam all over her lower back. All she wanted was his touch on her bottom, her thighs. God, more… she didn't want him to stop there. His hands were big, his touch heavy, fingers kneading and reveling in the feel of her firm skin. She began to press her hips against him, making him shudder at the merciless taunt on his solid throbbing muscle.

 

Vegeta felt genuine agonizing pain spear him right between the legs. This fucking petite Chikyuu-jin was so supple and soft, like some sort of tasty morsel meant for the gods. And here he was, ready to have a taste of her body. Him, a grotty bastard from hell, laying with this creature that was as fragile as she was delectable. She seemed spun from sugar and cream, smelled sweeter than the moonflowers that blossomed outside his chambers in his parents' villa when he was a child.

 

“Kiss me”. Her voice was an urgent whisper, a clamor, as she sought his lips desperately. He could feel the beating of her heart, the slight sheen of sweat as his hands grabbed and squeezed her back over and over again.

 

His lips eluded her, heightening her maddened need. Instead the world tilted sideways as he lowered her body harshly unto the big lush velour of the couch. He knelt on one knee between her thighs, pinning her down with his eyes alone. She writhed there, prey to passion, long blue mane a halo around her luminous, desire ridden face.

 

He was as alien as could be. She couldn't help but bask in that obvious realization as she gaped at him, candlelight playing with a body so lean, muscled and perfect it was enough to drive anyone into euphoria. And he was hers, only hers, yes, no one else's. From that sexy wild hair to… to that big thing that seemed desperate to have her. Her half-insane desire, the sound of her own labored breath sparked a sudden flicker of fear, something she was unable to elucidate. No… Kami, what was she doing? What was she doing? What would happen once he plunged inside her? Would she have the ability to let go, to remain herself?

 

She moaned and arched her back, looking into his eyes, panting, hitting his thighs with her own. “I don't want you.”

 

He leaned over her, bracing his hands on the armrest to whisper against her lips. “What was that?”

 

“I don't, I don't fucking want you…” She cried out, beating her fists against the solid muscle wall that was his chest.

 

He moved to grab the back of her knees and raised her thighs. He opened them as wide as they'd go making her inhale sharply. She felt completely invaded as he fixed his gaze on her very core. His pupils narrowed, and she could feel a cold thrill crawl down her spine. “What the fuck did you say woman…”

 

“I…” She cursed her shaky voice to hell and back. “I…” She gasped and grabbed unto the couch as he leaned down to inhale her scent deeply, almost pressing his nose to her drenched heat. He filled his lungs, over and over again, until he felt her musk rush right into his brain, awakening the lust thirsty beast every Saiyan carried dormant inside.

 

He lifted his eyes “You're lying to me… and I'll find out what your lies taste like.” A snide evil smile danced over his features.

 

“No” Her weak refusal met sheer domineering power.

 

“I have every right to taste what's mine, onna.”

 

Bulma looked at him as he buried his face between her thighs. And she cried, enraptured in pleasure so high she could almost see every single constellation. Her sound was both a whimper and a moan as he licked her with his full tongue, sucking on the very essence that ran from her burning flesh.

 

Her body bucked off the couch a good ten inches, and he had to hold her waist in a strong grip. Her legs were trembling, actually trembling. It had never been this way; it was not what she'd intended, this helplessness, this overwhelming need that made him like water to torturous thirst. Not once had she felt this fierceness, half pain, half pleasure, this maddened lust and utter satisfaction. Not in a million years.

 

He stopped licking and reared his head, savoring her taste in his mouth. His skin had already broken into rivulets of sweat that run down his well defined abs at the effort of holding his own pleasure at bay while he probed her with his tongue. Yes, his property, his alone, a creature fit to be royal concubine.

 

Both panted heavily, and her hands flew to try and pull his pants down frantically as he took his black boots off as quickly as possible. Both hers and his fingers were shaky and clumsy, desperate to get rid of his tight pants and free the one thing that would bring them release.

 

He ultimately tore it off and Bulma's eyes bulged. They fastened on the thick spear jutting from the apex of his thighs. She must have been gawking like stupid because she suddenly came back to reason when she heard him whisper hoarsely, a self-pleased smirk etched on his face. “Onna… get back here.”

 

And she did, arms flying to claw at his shoulders desperately. “You fucking asshole, I hate you!” God he looked like having him inside would make her explode into a million orgasms. He fell on her writhing body, not going inside, just kissing, neck, shoulders, groaning as he licked his way to the vale between her breasts. He'd punish them, for all those times… damn, all those times he'd sneaked a peak unable to do anything about it, unable to satiate the need to see them exposed, to grab them. He loved breasts, hell yeah, and hers… for all things unholy, they tasted like he wanted to suck on them forever. Big, round, bouncy as he squeezed them over and over again.

 

Bulma's moans tore off her throat repeatedly and she threw her head as far back as possible. She dug her nails into his back, scratching as hard as she could, unable to break the seemingly steel woven skin of a Saiyan. And she cried… “More…” He was thorough, as no one had ever been. He licked and tasted every single inch of her breasts, nipped at her nipples so hard it made her wince in pain. His grip on her body grew crueler, and she rasped growls of pain and pleasure, legs sliding to caress the length of his body.

 

He bit, he grabbed, pressed, pushed… working her body like she was a ragged doll, nearly blinded in a fantastic lust frenzy that he'd thought unable to exist. Yes, more, fucking more… gods, he didn't want it to end. He wanted her to plead, to beg.

 

And then… when another pain riddled groan escaped her lips he froze in place, completely unable to move a single muscle, painting against her lips. She sought them again, those elusive lips he seemed so adamant to surrender. She needed them like the earth needed the sun, and yet he kept their perfection to himself.

 

“Don't stop…” She cried, arching her shaky body against his. She breathed harshly, panic beginning to spread inside her as he retreated, running a hand in frustration down his face. He clenched his eyes shut and panted heavily.

 

“This is impossible, it can't be. It's foolish.”

 

She rose to half-seat, sliding her hands all over his body in frantic desperation. She spoke against his lips, between labored breaths. “Don't… we had agreed… we…”

 

He growled, grappling with his lust, with the frenzy that was tearing him in half. “Onna, you don't… you don't understand. This won't work.”

 

“We had a deal Vegeta” She was nearly kissing his lips. She'd die. If it ended this way, she'd die.

 

“I…” he looked at her lips, suddenly entranced in their moist, tempting shape. “I can't, we can't woman. Can't you see I can kill you if I actually go through with this…” He panted, feeling mind-numbing pain tear him between his thighs. “You're as easily broken as a crystal doll and I am Saiyan…I…”

 

She nearly nipped his lips. “If Son-kun could do it with Chichi… Vegeta, you can do this too, there's no doubt in my mind, you can do it…” Her words washed over him, heavily weighed with lust and faith, faith in him… like a warm breeze engulfing the cold barren fields of his world.

 

His breath quickened, something broke inside him, whatever it was he didn't know. But he somehow knew life was irrevocably different now. He could do it… If someone else had, he could do so too…

 

Her breathing was completely ragged against his own shallow one. “I can do it too, we can do it, Kami, Vegeta… we had a deal… make me yours.” She nearly kissed the words, brushing her lips against his.

 

And Vegeta grabbed her and pressed her against him, his forehead to her, hips against hips, his wet hardness against her belly. “… woman…”

 

His dam was breaking, and it was too late to do anything about it. She teased his lips with hers, again, and again… and again, one more time, until his heartbeat drummed in his ears. He couldn't, gods… he couldn't, he shouldn't---he shouldn't-heshouldn't-heshouldn't.

 

Vegeta kissed her, so fiercely, she opened her mouth wide open to welcome him. She growled and moaned against him, sucking, drinking, crushing so violently, the world ceased to exist entirely. Names, places, memories, it was all a distant forgotten nothing as the universe imploded in itself. It was their tongues, their heat, their sweat, all that mattered… that held a single thread of relevance. And their teeth grated, so violently, she could taste the coppery taste of their own blood mixing together.

 

The earth shook, shattered, crumbled when he plunged inside her without breaking the merciless kiss that bound them in ecstasy. And she cried, over and over, into his mouth, as he moved inside her, filling her up so entirely there was no more room for anything but him.

 

Bulma screamed her orgasm, tearing away from the kiss to throw her head back and buck on the couch. “Vegetaaaaa!!!!!!”

 

“He held her as tight as possible, mastering and honing his control over his power as he slid snuggly into her again, repeatedly. They'd screamed, screeched and moaned, but never his name, never his name. His pupils narrowed as he drank in her whimpering squirming figure, while he sunk deep into her flesh feeling it clench against him.

 

And the electricity exploded throughout every nerve and synapse of his frame, with such violence he was certain he'd pass out. He roared as his body shook and shuddered. And he rammed into her, against the couch, hard, muscles contracting in his bottom as he pinned her. His, his fucking woman, his concubine.

 

She kissed him, holding him hostage between the pressure of her thighs. His essence feeling like liquid honey, shooting into her, hot and thick at the same time.

 

It didn't stop. It was a merciless crescendo of pleasure that only spun further out of control, driving them to bite, scratch, and moan like wild beasts in the heat of the night. As soon as he came he was ready again, hardening inside, moving with utter abandon of reason.

 

She climaxed one more time, longer, deeper, for an uncountable number of minutes where she nearly cried tears of bliss. And he filled her again, shooting his desire out into her as he whimpered against her sweaty skin.

 

He tossed her around throughout the night, in the narrow space that forced their bodies to grind and writhe against each other. He did her from the back, as she knelt half slumped and whining, did her lying on the side, banging her for hours on end like a sex starved maniac that couldn't get enough. And she orgasmed, time and again, until she nearly lost her voice, her sense of self and her dignity.

 

Whatever it was… it didn't matter. There was nothing else, nothing more but the sweat, the muscles, the panting, of bodies and souls molded to fit perfectly. Lost, found and lost again in space and time, having the courage to live for one night, deep, soft and hard.

 

Until dawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: I hope you don't mind the lemony content? This chapter was partially conceived under the influence of Kylie Minogue's “After Dark”. If possible, you should grab a hold of it as it fits the mood of this piece. Oh, why can't life be perfect for my two muses… it can only get more complicated from now on… *smirks*