Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Hold Him Prisoner ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: DBZ belongs to its rightful owners. Not making profit, only drooling over a certain bad man.

 

Warning: This chapter contains very strong language, so please don't say I didn't warn you. Some pretty pissed off characters here.

 

 

How to Make Love to a Saiyan

By Caprice

 

Chapter 10

Step 11 - Hold him Prisoner

 

 

 

Three weeks. Three weeks since that night on the suite… since a breaking point that haunted her night and day… weeks of life being so infinitely different. And now… now she gazed at a stranger in the mirror, and the stranger was no other than her.

 

“My God… you are a VISION.” Came the high pitched voice, every word clearly enunciated. Kassidy's arms gestured gracefully while appreciating the sight before him… her… him. Bulma still had a bit of difficulty when referring to that whirlwind who aided her when in need of SERIOUS assistance in the fashion department. He had been appointed her personal stylist by her mother herself, queen of status and elegance in the highest spheres of society, yet it'd be unfair to reduce his relevance to that mere fact.

 

He'd earned Bulma's respect through painstaking years standing in the backstage of her life, pins pressed between his lips and tape measure flung around his dainty neck. He'd been there, before, during and after formals of every kind, cocktails, parties, luaus - you name it - making sure she always looked nothing less than absolutely spectacular. Impeccable really, in the benefit of the cameras, the audience, or whoever was gathered for the event… but mostly in the benefit of herself.

 

He'd voiced her opinions for her in the form of gauze and lamé, transformed her into a living breathing art piece with a trace of the baroque. Ah, the sultriness and extravagance of it all, of a woman who'd let her body tell the tale through the boldness of her clothes and the way she moved. A silent call and a beautiful protest, tacit messages of sweet desperation from a soul burdened by a destiny to fulfill… to morph into the absolutely perfect empress of the mighty corporation. Yes, it was a gross contrast to her surroundings, a subtle rebellion in its own way… too much skin, too much hair, and yet, all in all mostly, simply… her.

 

So he took his job seriously, Kassidy, an interpreter of sorts. He was the official and flamboyant peddler of grand couturiers such as Valentino and Galliano and knew exactly what season, catalog or collection any particular pair of Blahnik's belonged to. Hell, he even knew the difference between ciel and baby blue, or matte and semi-matte. His pretty bag was so full of shimmer, color and still to be released tubes of juicy makeup it was enough for any normal living breathing female to have a heart attack. That and complete, unhidden arrogance were the reasons he didn't let anyone near the thing with what he referred to as “unworthy hands”.

 

And so tonight he stood there, in that same stance he always adopted when studying the latest canvas that was Bulma Brief's incarnate, taking in what she had morphed into, the ensemble he had managed to pull together within days of her call and the specs given. And it was a challenge too! That task many people would consider shallow and inconsequential but which actually required true knowledge and refinement to pull off; creating that one look that would make the turquoise and cream palette that was the daughter of the President of the CC, the undisputable goddess of the night.

 

“I look like a glacial bitch with the sexual appeal of a nun and the sense of fashion of my late grandmother.” Bulma stated, no inflection to her voice. She raised her chin a bit, twisting to the sides in a haughty posture. Harsh words, yet a tiny smirk began to stretch her perfectly and neutrally colored lips, no daring rouges or sensual dark tones to make them voluptuous or sinfully suggestive. “It's perfect…”

 

“Of courrse it is” Kassidy said in a tone that reeked of - oh silly as if you expected ANYTHING less of me. “It's serious and elegant, perfectly cool and dignified. Everything you need to make this night every bit as… different as you want it to be.” His voice quivered a little towards the end, the gale of emotions that had been contained behind those big expressive eyes striving to burst through any second now. Bulma sighed internally, already bracing herself for what was sure to come. She knew Kass all to well, and even though he'd been working like a slave all day, directing and supervising the performance of the throng of makeup and hair artists with his usual rococo character, he was probably about to burst at the seams now.

 

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, for once abandoning the reflection on the lustrous full-body mirror of her ample room. “Alright… come one, let me have it.”

 

“Ookay” His nose started reddening and his eyes watering, “It's colorless, dull and mind numbingly boring, there I said it. It's got nothing to do with my usual style, I mean…” He snatched a perfumed tissue from a Kleenex box and blew his nose noisily all the while gesturing wildly with his right hand. “Where are the daring rich colors, the reds and the blacks, or the luscious lip gloss that would go amazingly well with that daring Versace I had been saving for your next big occasion? I had to pull that meringue nightmare from the depths of my studio and cry my eyes out as I fitted it to your size. And yeah, it took a hell of a lot of margaritas to put my creative conscience at ease. Happy?” He sniffled into the scented napkin looking at Bulma with eyes full of melodrama.

 

Bulma smiled sincerely, the sheer simplicity of the gesture lighting her features to the likes of an angel. It had an immediate soothing effect on Kass, for there was nothing she couldn't achieve by letting her warmth show through that tiny gesture, and it was a treat to see her eyes twinkle on the axis of such spontaneity. Yes, perhaps her most haunting feature was her smile.

 

“Meringue nightmare? You know better than to call it that.” She pinned her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, her eyes still gentle and appeasing. “You know it's beautiful. Granted, not in the way you are used to, but beautiful nevertheless. As much as it is somewhat dull compared to what you normally wrap me into, you totally succeeded at what I asked of you, which was creating something… you know… something…” She began moving her hand delicately as if trying to conceive the right word to describe the remarkable ensemble draped around her. “Sober. Something… sober.” Bulma's face changed slightly at the sound of her own voice, as if coming to a mournful realization. It looked like a tiny amount of sorrow, yet it came and went like waves of foam washing upon a beach.

 

Kass shook his head and started stashing makeup, accessories and all sorts of tubes, sprays and balms into his bag.

 

“You know, the funny thing is, even though this is not what I normally do and I just can't make my peace with whatever this is supposed to mean, I have never seen you look quite this beautiful.” He lifted his gaze to her, placing a fashionable hat over the sweep of blonde and black that was his hair. He tossed a purple scarf around his shoulders and sighed deeply before striding towards the door. “Yet you neglect the magic, the sheer possibilities, burgundy lace, dark purple and black chiffon hugging those glorious curves you were lucky to be endowed with. I just don't see it love. I just don't know what happened to long luscious curls around bare shoulders or bold cleavages that turned the party upside down. What the hell are they supposed to talk about now? The stock market?”

 

Bulma turned back to stare hard at the mirror, no emotion whatsoever betraying her stern demeanor. “I would stay here and talk sense into you but I still have to go put the finishing touches on that gorgeous blue silk dress your mother's wearing tonight. I swear nothing suits her like Cavalli.” He whispered, for once beaming dreamily as he closed the door behind him.

 

She didn't really notice him leave, so distraught in her own little world she'd suddenly become. Something nailed her to the carpet, all motor functions lost to some strange and incomprehensible reason. It was a feeling of all-encompassing numbness, this black hole… a vacuum slowly devouring her insides until there seemed to be nothing left.

 

She felt every bit as she looked, cold and detached, like an ice queen standing in the midst of her own wintery aura. The absolutely beauty of the vision before her, of that flawless reflection on the mirror was impossible to deny, there was no use being modest. She had never possessed such a statuesque appearance, such air of superiority that could only belong to a mythical goddess. It was as if she weren't even human, but an ethereal vision that had materialized into this world to walk amongst mortals for the length of a night.

 

There was nothing out of place, nothing that wasn't infinitely controlled and perfected in the divine poetry that was her look. From the sheer, matte makeup that made her skin as smooth as velvet to the hair which was done in a modest and refined updo. It was the epitome of serene and aristocratic, two tiny diamond earrings shimmering on her earlobes as modest preamble to the stunning yet demure creation that was her dress. It had a covered chest with a design of elegant simplicity before it fell to the floor in a cascade of white organza. An angel? A white, impeccable angel who was missing nothing but a set of wings or the perfectly poised master of her own corporate empire? Quiet the pointless question as all that mattered was the effect, the purpose.

 

Indeed Kass was right; she would have never in a million years worn something like this. But then that was… before. True, it was a direct contrast to that suggestive style she liked to taunt with, the kind of stuff that pushed people's buttons and had them talking all night long. Yet time had come for that turning point in her life. By God, how long could anyone hide? It had taken her three weeks to arrive to this definitive conclusion, that running away from what she truly was expected to be could only represent the path to her ultimate destruction.

 

She would not stray from that train of thought now. Reckless abandonment, toying with the system, an over-indulgence in extreme sports of the sexual kind, it was all an avoidance of a much bitter reality. No… she was supposed to be smart and sensible, collected and reasonable. No dumb shit, no screwed up shit. She couldn't hide from what the world expected, could she? And the world now waited.

 

Three weeks. They had been enough to make her conform to the norm, to morph into his swanlike vision of hard beauty and cold power that betrayed no trace of what she used to be. That crazy girl, crushed under an unhealthy infatuation with a master of wicked desire and spellbinding moves. Crazy… completely crazy, doing the unthinkable under the covers, falling to her knees to worship him fully, entirely, with hands and nails and a more than an eager tongue. His skin all she wanted to wear, his voice all she wanted to hear as she lost herself deeper and deeper beneath the cruel pull of his presence.

 

She saw the image on the mirror wince for a split second, that expression of sharp pain giving her pulchritudinous appearance the semblance of humanity. Something stung at the back of her eyeballs, little needles that heralded tears, but she bit her lip, swallowing all emotion. No, not tonight. NOT tonight.

 

She walked closer to the mirror, making her unearthly presence fill it entirely yet she couldn't really see herself. It was him, him again. He exploded into her mind. His eyes, deep and torturous like raging storms from a merciless hurricane. Lips so full, soft and sensuous they trailed fire on her white skin and made her tremble in desire. Hands so sinful, so full of malice they spun magic in bed, over the kitchen table, on the bathroom tiles, against the wall… whatever surface he'd wanted to take her on. God, they were… they were strong and big and masculine, just like him, like EVERY single part of him.

 

Vegeta. The subject of her epiphany, yet again.

 

And what did she have now, what had she been left with after sleeping with the enemy? The scent of him, thoughts of him, and his image sketched on a thousand pages by her fierce hand.

 

She was perfectly beautiful; for once in her life looking the part of a serious heiress who was ready to preside over a company cocktail party. Yes, everything ready at the enormous and opulent dome to host a night of inane chatter overlooking the city lights. And still all she could think about was him. The smooth planes of a face so alien in its beauty she had lain watching him sleep for hours on end. Locks of hair so wild and rebellious her fingers tingled at the chance to sift through them. And they felt like silk, strong smooth silk as she held them while he played forbidden games with the hidden regions of her body.

 

She wanted him. Right here, right now. She wanted him to fly into her room, double her over and fuck her from behind clad in his armor. She wanted him to punish her for all her sins and to tell her exactly what to do and when to do it. To let her know just when she was allowed to cum, the secret, twisted and completely depraved things he whispered in her ear when he was doing her ruthlessly. How filthy he was. How bad. Yes, she wanted it all.

 

She ground her teeth, long lashes fluttering as she pressed her thighs together to squander the sudden thirst for her own personal drug. It was cruel and painful, merciless as it bit at her womb like a voracious creature that knew no restraint. It crashed against her, making her feel little and pathetic, compounding with the agonizing pain inside her chest that never ceased to throb since… since then.

 

She had been wringing the folds of her dress, lost in the shambles of her interior which were so adeptly concealed by such marvelous looks. Her gloriousness the perfect façade to conceal the bitter turmoil that now whirled about in the murky waters of her soul. Loss, so deep, SO scarring her heart felt like it was being torn in half, like she was being mutilated savagely with the rusty blade of a knife. It was an inconceivable pain, mixed with that unsurpassable sexual desire that had threatened to rob her of all reason. The usual combination, except it was now tenfold, because life was different, because the world now spun backwards.

 

Ever since what trespassed three weeks ago.

 

Her eyes danced upon her image but she couldn't recognize herself anymore. All she could see was a stranger with her features, sneering at her for her current weakness, mocking her for standing there looking like royalty yet lost to the slavery of her emotions. And it was right there and then, when faced with the gust of remembrance that she lowered her head and exhaled sharply, eyes clenched in pain. Memories won the battle over composure and she felt that all too familiar feeling of ice wrapping around her spine. A moment of weakness… not now.

 

Yes, memories from that evening crashed against her skull violently…Blood, so much blood, by god, and sex, and pain… and hatred, pure and whole. Enough to last her a lifetime.

 

----------------------- x -------------------------------------

 

The banging on the doors… it was loud and unbearable and dammit, it wasn't helping! Bulma slid to the CC presidential suite's luxurious foyer hurriedly, hands trembling slightly as she pressed her back to the wall. She pursed her lips and stared ahead through troubled eyes. Couldn't they just leave her alone? So the lights were flickering on and off in the entire 30 floors, big deal! She would find a way to remedy that situation if they'd just let her do her thing and…

 

Banging, again, fretful and insistent and making her jolt in place. She clenched and unclenched her jaw, her heart beating furiously against her ribcage as if attempting to escape right through it. She seriously deserved this, she thought, a sudden veil of panic descending on what had been a pretty determined mindset up until the moment things went wild. I mean, who the hell in the entire planet dared taunt a big bad animal that was perfectly capable of tearing you to bite size pieces. Who'd tamper with a powerhouse that possessed enough voltage in his little finger to make the entire globe blow up in a spectacle of light and dust? Seriously, who was that deranged and twisted and masochistic. Go ahead, poke that vicious and completely unpredictable alien warrior devil prince why don't you? So Chikyuu risked exploding into a million pieces, who caared? It was only the entire world, nothing to mourn or fret about or anything. She'd just kill herself again in the afterlife to relieve the bitter guilt of it all. Oh but Bulma had to have her fix didn't she… she just HAD to play with a dangerous intergalactic rogue and…

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Briefs??? Bulma Briefs? Is anyone there??”

 

“Shit.” She said simply, staring at the doors with a sour expression. The filaments in the light fixtures buzzed horribly as the lights flickered on and off yet again.

 

“….no use, come on Joe, just bust down the damn door.” Came the muffled command.

 

“Wait!” Bulma sprung forward, long flowing see through black robe fluttering in her haste. She swung down the intricate golden door handle and gazed out at the woman who stood outside, a big black man towering behind her.

 

They stared at her with eyes as wide as dishes, the woman's chubby fist frozen in mid air as she'd obviously been prepared to swing it hard against the thick wooden doors. Bulma was half naked, one of those flimsy bras that were meant to be worn for about five minutes before being torn off the only thing covering her chest. The rest amounted to nothing but a tiny matching panty and so it just suddenly occurred to her how naked she was. Super freaking awesome night! She merely mumbled a few curses before glaring murder at the intruders and grabbing her robe around her. It did little cover her impudent appearance; long voluptuous hair framing her blushing cheeks.

 

“What!” She spat.

 

“Mmmmiss Briefs! I ah, I…” The little woman stammered. She cleared her throat against her fist and readjusted the heavy rims of her glasses. “I didn't see you arrive through the lobby. This is quite a surprise, a pleasant one nevertheless, please don't get me wrong, we just weren't expecting you.”

 

“Oh come on Margherite” She replied smoothly, attempting to ease the other woman's anxieties. “I landed on the heliport, can't a girl make a discreet entrance? Now what is it that brings you knocking on my door at this hour? I believe there's no need for such…”

 

“Woman! You……. gaaah! Fuuuck!!”

 

They all pretended they hadn't heard a thing, the tremendous roar coming forth from the depths of the opulent suite a huge dissonance to their otherwise civil exchange. “Um… need for such, uh, vigorous knocking.” Bulma smiled shakily, taking in the bewildered expression on the hotel administrator's face and the security guard who stood attentive.

 

“I … oh that does make sense I suppose. It's just not your usual style but still, as stated, we are very pleased to have you around. The suite has been adequately kept to meet your usual requirements. I really do hope you find it to your…”

 

“Bitch! Agh, Gods!”

 

Margherite stared at Bulma dumbfounded, yet the heiress remained oddly unfazed, huge blue eyes wide in expectancy but seeming all together, pretty ok.

 

“…liking, and as always, I welcome you to West Plaza, we…” The lights zinged again, and the entire hallway blacked out for a good few second before the light fixtures buzzed back to normalcy. The woman's expression changed abruptly and her courteous manners melted away under unhidden annoyance. “Uh, ok…I am sorry but is everything alright? We couldn't help but notice certain…………. disturbances that seem to be emanating from the penthouse. Is it some sort of experiment we don't know about?”

 

Bulma pressed her lips into a thin line, inwardly cringing at the tremendous array of insults that were now being uttered from within the apartment in what sounded like a completely alien dialect. Just what the hell was a foiaka? Aie! Foiaka! sataeya antiann foiaka! He repeated, over and over again, with a voice so deafening the walls seemed to shake. Well, she supposed she really didn't need a Saiyan-English translator or anything of the sort to imagine what it all meant. Words of love? She didn't think so.

 

“Listen here Margherite” Bulma whispered harshly, inching forward and feeling her patience begin to fray. “I really don't have time for this right now, so I'll just have to be blunt. You should freaking get out of here right this second and take big Joe there with you before you're sorry. Now, before you start stuttering your concerns about the health and safety of the building and its guests, let me put your mind and ease. Don't worry about the hotel or anything of the sort, I have it all under control, or at least I will if you'd just let me do my thing and get the hell out of my sight. Every single second is precious, you hear me? Precious.”

 

Both members of staff blinked.

 

Bulma bent sideways to open the tiny drawer of a side table and produce an impressive wad of money. “So tell me Margherite, do you have grandchildren?”

 

Margherite opened her mouth, yet remained mute.

 

“Yeah, I am sure you do. Little Johnny and little Susie or something along those lines. Big sparkling eyes and cute little faces. Am I right?”

 

“It's actually Matt and Amy…”

 

“Who cares” Bulma cut in, on the vortex of exasperation with the stuttering woman. “I mean… that's really not the issue is it? Because there'll be no one to remember their names if you don't back off right now and go on your merry way. Do you want Susie to grow up, get married and live happily ever after? Huh? Do you?”

 

“Amy…”

 

“Whatever”

 

The woman raised her eyebrows looking fearful. “Well… yes, I sure do I…”

 

Bulma extended her arm and basically shoved the roll of money her way. “Yes, I thought so. So why don't you take this little sample of my appreciation and let me handle the situation. For the kids.”

 

Margherite took the generous offering still looking more than a little confounded. Big Joe only frowned, quirking an eyebrow in full appreciation of the green pack of a couple thousand zeni.

 

“Miss Briefs, this really isn't necessary….” She started.

 

Bulma sighed. “Just take the fucking money, honey. I got a big thing on my hands, believe me. And that big thing is certainly difficult to handle.”

 

“Oh so it IS an experiment, how delightful!” Beamed the woman, all of a sudden a lot chipper thanks to the infallible effect of sweaty cash. It sure was a generous gift. “Is it something totally new?”

 

“Uhu, yeah. It's totally out of this world.” Bulma muttered before slamming the door in their faces. She strode across the carpeted halls in the direction of the lush creamy interiors of the bedroom, her movements so swift her hair moved with the rush of air, face glowing in complete determination. She cursed every step of the way; every sense heightened and attuned to the particular energy emissions a certain body was producing.

 

She had to temper her nerves. This was no time to get all shaky and loose her advantage. That's what she told herself as she stood in the hallway outside the room, lifting a needle and a tiny bottle of special tranquilizing serum that was enough to put ten elephants to sleep. She sucked in the solution with the syringe, pushed the plastic end in and saw the crystalline liquid that had been perfectly concocted for this very moment squirt upwards.

 

And weapon in hand, she strode into the jaw dropping scenario that was the Victorian suite, all draped in gossamer and lace, chandeliers glittering on the ceiling and an enormous four poster bed planted against the far wall. She always had to contain the slightest gasp when she came to this place, so tastefully decorated it looked like something out of a French palace. It was all white and pristine, a testimony to human opulence that contrasted sharply with the body of a male completely clad in black.

 

He stood there in the middle, looking like a proud demon even though his hands were manacled behind his back by invisible rings of energy. His body had been immobilized from the knees down, feet planted to the floor by a force shield that projected down from a round chrome contraption in the roof… the one he hadn't seen as she led him to the spot. Perfectly attuned to his particular Ki signal, utterly genius.

 

She smirked as she stood in the doorway, looking at the gorgeous creature that breathed harshly through his nostrils. His sensuous lips were pressed tightly together, and he appeared to be gathering as much power as he could in order to free himself from such a humiliating ordeal. When he thought he'd amassed enough of it he pulled and pulled at his unresponsive arms, his torso bending as he struggled to be free while failing miserably for the umpteenth time in the last hour or so. God knew he was tireless and the massive amounts of power he was emitting in his task were beginning to make the entire electrical circuitry of the place, perhaps even the entire district, suffer in its wake.

 

Bulma twiddled the syringe between her index and middle finger, taking in how sweaty he'd become in his endeavors. Tanned skin luminous and damp, breathing ragged and eyes… was there a way to accurately describe those eyes? He lifted them to her, an odd red tint to the irises which was probably yet another effect of the rise of the full moon. His fangs were still slightly sharper than usual and his vocal chords had acquired the odd reverberation of a beast's.

 

He continued looking at her, sending her a positively infernal smirk that was meant to freeze anyone's blood. They promised murder and destruction and were evidence that he'd resorted to sheer psychological intimidation in response to his physical binding. Diabolical really, eyes glaring venomous daggers that spoke pure hatred.

 

“Ah ah ah” She said, smiling. “It's not going to work Prince.” She walked in and grabbed a previously poured glass of Cristal before touching it to her lips. “I strongly suggest you stop that stupid little tantrum of yours. No one here can hear you, and no one gives a rat's ass for that matter.”

 

He laughed that throaty chuckle that had made her wet so many times in bed and leveled his eyes to hers. “Cunt”

 

Bulma threw her head back and downed the glass at once before banging it down on the little table. “Uhu, you bet. Keep them coming, I love it when you talk dirty to me. In fact in only makes me hotter.”

 

Bingo, there it was, that startled look of actual defeat across his face. She riled in it.

 

“Now… come on, soo much drama, as if a little restraint ever harmed anyone. Haven't you learned a thing or two about relaxation these past weeks? God, anyone would think you're actually scared of me.” She lifted an eyebrow and pursed her plump red lips. His eyes only grew darker, like black flames of death.

 

She let her thumb slide suggestively over the rim of the glass. “As you probably know… I can't quite let you put me in such a compromising position, meaning, if you don't decide to behave like a good little boy I'll have no choice but to make you do so. So why don't you just tell me what it's going to be…” Bulma's voice was both sultry and harsh. “Are you going to behave and make this easy or are you gonna act like a complete fucking asshole?”

 

Vegeta looked at her down his nose, the flames of the fireplace inside the room making a fang glint. He mouthed the words “fuck you” before giving her a snide little smile.

 

Bulma refused to be affected by his trademark arrogance. “Fuck me? I wouldn't be so sure. See, in case you haven't noticed, it's not about me tonight. It's about you, so you should be happy really. But then men, alien or not, are creatures I have never quite been able to comprehend.” She began approaching him, eyes never leaving his as she did. “Why do they feel that primeval need to hold the threads? Why do they have to make things so damn difficult all the time?” She circled him, her breath tantalizing his skin as she let her eyes roam over his entire body.

 

Vegeta ground his teeth so strongly his entire frame went tense with the effort. She was like a venomous snake, a dangerous creature sizing her prey and for some very humiliating reason that prey tonight was no other than him. Fucking marvelous. May his father and his entire kingdom in hell be spared the knowledge.

 

“Why not behave? Why not enjoy the ride? Isn't it obvious you don't have a blinking choice in the matter? That's right, my Lord. You'd better believe you don't have a fucking choice.” And with that she stabbed his right bicep with the needle, pushing down on the liquid right away. He raised his chin, chest heaving, and every muscle in his throat tensing to the fullest. “Don't worry, it will only bring you down a peg or two. You are of no use to me all knocked down.” She threw the needle at the fire and turned to look at him, a mere two inches separating their faces.

 

His eyelids were fluttering under the influence of the drug, lips parted. It sent a tremor down her spine, an odd recognition at the sight. He really did look the exact same way he did when he was about to climax. She knew that expression all to well, the glistening sweat of his brow and the slightly more relaxed countenance. Yes, almost like a sexual expression, most definitely orgasmic.

 

“So” She said in an upbeat tone. “Indulge me wont you. What in heaven does it feel like to not be in control? Does it make you buzz in anticipation?”

 

His eyes flung open, throat emitting the exact same low gurgle of a panther on the prowl. “Oh Vegeta. It's okay, I know your dirty little secrets.” She hissed against those reddened lips of his… they seemed fuller, more enticing tonight and she just had to wonder if the full moon somehow made him riper for sex.

 

“I know you've wanted it all night long. Weren't you almost begging for it like a little puppy? Hell, I'm sure you would have wagged your tail if you still had one.” She felt his black pupils warm her insides with their flaming hatred.

 

He lifted an eyebrow, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You flatter yourself you bitch.” His voice was impossibly husky, enough to make her skin tingle.

 

“Oh but quite convenient of you to deny what you truly want. How fucking convenient to pretend you weren't hard all night.” Her hand slithered under the hem of his shirt, velvety smooth abdominal muscles meeting the palm of her hand. “Like you don't crave it right now, right this second. In fact, guess what…” Her other hand flew to cup his groin harshly, squeezing enough to make him wince. “You're still hard now.”

 

Vegeta breathed through his teeth, troubled eyes attempting to focus on her. Whatever the hell she had injected him with was wrecking havoc on his system and turning him to jelly.

 

“What? Do you want me stop? Am I making you uncomfortable?” Bulma whispered, a fierce gleam in her eye. She resorted to traveling with both her hands under the tight material of his shirt. “Do you hate how good it makes you feel, praying against all hope that you don't like it? It's a startling revelation, isn't it? The knowledge that your body dares rebel to your will, that sense and reason could so easily be forgotten at the prospect of skin and sweat. The things we seek when no one's looking, that no one else knows we so desperately want. And yet, at the end of the day all we want is to die once more, to live once more in that one orgasmic second of bliss. Don't we want that quaking, pulsating need to cry out? Wouldn't we kill for it?” She nearly touched her lips to him, almost feeling their soft sensation brush against them. “You want to say no, don't you? Want to remain in control, to retain all sanity, berating yourself for how your body reacts to every touch.” She took her time to explore the valleys and muscles of his torso, the nipples that hardened between her probing digits. She rubbed them purposefully, enjoying how he shivered when she circled her thumbs around them, flicking them. “And you hate yourself a bit more with every bolt of pleasure that travels through your veins, cursing yourself for such weakness. Rearing your pride to say you don't need it, oh you're better than this, you're above sex and its nasty pull. Not a puppet to its effect, no, not it's mindless victim. You don't crave it with every fiber of your being, the hot, tasty filth of it all. No, you shouldn't sacrifice pride for a good lay. So you stand there, like a dignified Prince when all you really want, and I know this very well…” She scraped her nails down his six pack. “All you really want is to be fucked.”

 

The numbing effect of the drug lifted off instantaneously, pride and dignity scratching at his chest and crying violently. He darted his eyes in her direction and remained focused as if attempting to drill her mind with his gaze alone. “Oh, what is that I smell…” His voice drenched in sarcasm, nostrils flared as he sniffed the air around her. “Like musk and vanilla. Does it smell like eager juicy female sex to you too?”

 

The room spinned into a blur as a violent slap sent his face sideways, and he shook his head, blinking in disbelief. Damn, that actually hurt! He felt his brain bang against his skull and his jaw throb under the force of her palm. Whatever thing that syringe contained had rendered his ki-half dead and turned him into a pathetic weakling who now lay vulnerable to the puny attacks of a female. Again, two-zero and just fucking marvelous. Not only had she artfully conned him into this trap with soft, lilting promises of sexual gratification and acceptance, but she had managed to rob him of the power to exact any sort of vengeance, at least for the time being.

 

Had he underestimated her? No, he knew this girl was a hellion, he fed from it and liked the fact that he was the master of such a force of life. Yet, she kept posing more and more challenges, raising the bar in this game of insanity. He had to commend her for being so unpredictable, not that the thought made him happy right now. In fact in made him livid, for tonight of all nights he'd needed his fix of her body like never before.

 

“Huh, interesting.” He smirked. “A right treat, a wonderful little speech to postpone the inevitable and gloss over the fact that you stand there, swollen between the legs yet babbling like a spoiled little girl. Well why the hell don't you just cut to the chase girl, as you humans say. Quit lying to yourself and turn this damn thing off. Indulge in what you truly want and can't seem to acknowledge.” He pointed his eyes in the direction of his crotch, an eyebrow lifting up suggestively. “That right there. Every single inch of it.”

 

Bulma only laughed, turning towards the chest at the foot of the bed and grabbing the pack of ultra light cigarettes that lay on top. She lifted a stick and lit it with her diamond studded Zippo then took a drag. “Pretty sad attempt Vegeta” Her lips curled as she neared him, blowing the white smoke right into his face. “Such a pathetic try really. Do tell me, what are you going do when I set you free? Are you going to fuck me or are you going to kill me, or fuck me then kill me, no… wait, kill me and then fuck me?” She chuckled. “What? As if you weren't capable of everything. As if you knew nothing of perversion.”

 

Sweet nicotine rushed to fill her senses, relaxing her enough to lean back slightly and rake her eyes down his body unashamedly. “I don't really give a damn, but for the time being you're mine, my little pleasure doll and I say when I am done and when you need to SHUT THE FUCK UP.” She belted into his face, purposefully making him angry at her. Oh this wasn't going to be good if he didn't hate her as much as he desired her. No, it had to hurt for it to be sublime. That was the law in this sick twisted world. No pain, no pleasure. And she'd get back at him, every pore of his body, and tell him many truths of what they'd shared. Whatever happened, happened. She didn't know what his reaction would be or how things would end, but she'd toy with life and death tonight… if only for this chance.

 

 

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A/N This chapter has been written for quite a few weeks now but it's been a hell of a month. All I can say is real life has become as conflicted as this portion of the story (like some sort of freaking irony) so I have been literally forced to stop writing for weeks now. Before you all go scared, the good news is chapter 11 is already written. It was part of chapter 10 but the thing was so long I decided to chop it in half. So I might post it soon depending on how badly you kiddos need/want it… you know I turn to mush for you guys, come on I love you all. Oh and I must say, HUGE hug to Onedream, my 100th review on FF.net. You are adorable, and so are all of you who've been supportive through 10 chapters of a story that was originally supposed to be a lemon one-shot. I seriously considered naming all my reviewers, but I swear it'd take for freaking ever to write all the names down, and I don't wanna bore you like that! Something else, if anyone wants to be emailed when a new chapter comes out, make sure to let me know or leave your email address on your comment. To those who noticed my brief yaoi incursion, don't go thinking I'd ever leave VBs for Trutens. This is different. You all know I am in love with Vegeta don't you???

 

Love, Caprice