Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ How to Make Love to a Saiyan ❯ Private Angel ( Chapter 20 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own the characters, but that truly is irrelevant, isn't it?
AN: Please, understand and be warned this chapter's highly erotic, the kind of thing you're probably not expecting. Words cannot express how much fun I had writing it. Available on FF.net for a limited time?
How to Make Love to a Saiyan
Chapter 20
Step 21 - Private Angel
She met the tiles of the bathchamber face first, palms flat against the coolness of the surface when she landed. He barely had to employ any force to toss her to the ground, and as she fell, she made sure she carried everything sitting atop the sink's cabinet with her. She wasn't glad to hear the rattling of the toiletries, even if scattering them had been her plan all along. This night stood as the ultimate test to her spirit and she was truly worried she'd fail.
Facts dictated she shouldn't feel what she felt for him; that she should in fact murder for the sake of mankind… hell, for the sake of the galaxy. He was evil incarnate, a beautiful deadly weapon that shouldn't be trusted to let alive. Through the weight of his own trespasses he'd forgone a place in heaven and thus tonight, the souls of those he'd slain cried out from the abyss, demanding she did them justice. They relied on her womanly artifices to put their killer to rest and she was sure they were now watching through ghostly eyes. The gods would forgive her sin, she hoped, for in karmic balance it was she who carried over her the cross of the innocent. But wouldn't stealing his life mar her virgin hands? And had Kami truly spoken to her earlier today and issued a completely outlandish request?
Recover what we thought was lost forever. Winter is merely a passageway to the flourishing of life.
Bulma swallowed down her nausea knowing she couldn't delay the inevitable. She was for sure going to retch. That fact fleeted through her mind as she eyed the handheld mirror that had fractured against the surface of the ground and slid to a halt behind the toilet's base.
With much effort, she raised her weight on quivery arms and vomited loudly on the round depths of the porcelain bowl, feeling like her stomach was going to come out her mouth any second and it would pull every other gut along with it. She coughed until her throat had gone raw, alcohol spurting out with the last dregs of strength that drained away simultaneously. When she finally hit a pedal to flush the contents she closed her eyes, uttered a shaky sigh and grabbing unto the edge.
Even half-slumped over the rim, and half-way between light and darkness, she could still feel his presence behind her making her react. Her spine tingled and her self-preservation radar blared, shedding light on one simple fact. This wasn't just any stupid crush. This she felt for him was the pitch of never-ending passion. Love was the most incongruous way to explain this fire and so she didn't even subscribe to its clichéd, muddled up tenor. She'd find a grander word to describe it, she vowed, and she'd forge it from the memories of that rare side of him he never showed any other.
Her executioner was watching her, towering over her like a predatory animal eying a fawn, or so she felt as his boots came into her line of vision. He paced back and touched a knee to the floor behind her so he could breathe into her hair. “You can't do the things I do and not suffer the consequences, little one.” His body irradiated heat from every pore and she ached to melt into him but decided she couldn't.
Issuing a shuddery inhalation, she slid a palm through the floor towards a triangular piece of mirror that had sprung free when the object crashed. The souls still cried, and their keening laments rung in her ears threatening to deafen her. It was their voice that made her close her fist over the makeshift dagger with enough force to cut her own satiny palm. So help her God.
Right this moment, she was the single most breathtaking vision he'd ever encountered. She appeared vulnerable and broken, slung over the rim like a china doll. For a flicker of a second he thought himself privileged, privileged and lucky to have caught beauty so frail with such coarse hands. Exactly the kind of girl who'd never in a million years go to bed with the likes of him. Blue-green threads of hair contrasted vividly against her snowy cheek, long tendrils stuck to her red-wine lips. So innocent… so perfectly different… he thought with a slight frown, taken with the exotic coloring and the delicate, curvy figure.
And that's when it happened.
One moment she was draped over the porcelain bowl and the next she was going at him, swinging her arm up to plunge the piece of mirror into his neck. He didn't put up resistance and he didn't know why. He wouldn't fight her, raise a hand or slap her off, even when her hand looked like it moved through thick syrupy molasses. It would have been easy to parry her thrust yet he remained still and unyielding.
Vegeta knew a murder attempt when he saw one. He understood the visceral strength it took. There was an icy cold demeanor needed to go through with, but this, this wasn't it. Even as he felt the sharp edge of the mirror slice through his flesh with the sting of a knife he could see her wrist waver and her eyes dim in self-doubt.
She couldn't kill. It just wasn't in her.
You were either born with it or you weren't, you were either corruptible or not and his Chikyuu-jin concubine would certainly die a white lamb. She could tell herself as many lies as she wished and it wouldn't change that truth.
He tensed his neck before she reached his jugular, even though he knew she'd drop the shard long before reaching it. Her hold had slackened and no strength remained in her slender arm but he stiffened his neck to stanch the blood that flowed in copious amounts. He grabbed her wrist in a strong grip, feeling the hot streams as they poured and spread like black tentacles over the fabric of his shirt.
Bulma's eyes widened at two terrible realizations, not only had she failed in every way shape and form, but she was now certainly doomed. She gasped when he flicked her wrist and the piece of mirror hit the floor with a tinkling sound. A foiled attempt, her last chance at salvation and she couldn't do it. Kami, had she failed the universe? Had she condemned them all?
He lifted his chin, still shaken by the unexpected turn of events and sought the wound with unsteady fingers. They found their way to the place she'd slashed, more blood prying free when he exerted pressure over the cut. Little bitch. She'd given him a really long gash. That realization disarrayed his impervious frown as he held the gummy bloody fingers before his eyes. He stared at the gore for a moment before curling the fingers one by one and sending her a feral look of pure animalistic wrath.
Bulma gasped and tried to scramble away but he grabbed a hold of her long flowing tresses, hoisting her up and making her shriek. “Excellent work. You never cease to surprise me.” He led her to the sink and turned her around to hang her over the sleek black basin. “You have five seconds to convince me why I shouldn't put an end to you tonight, and you'd better manage to do so while you wash your mouth. I don't like giving second chances.” His threat was a breathy blow, black and dripping with violence.
He opened the tap and pushed her head down so fast, her lungs deflated with the motion. Long tendrils of terror wrapped around her brain but her iron neurons processed her thoughts with outstanding clarity. She cupped the trickle of icy water and rinsed her mouth thoroughly, thinking there was no way around it. This was the moment to share the truth she herself had just discovered. All she prayed was that Kami would let Vegeta see she was being honest, that she was about to bare her soul to him like she'd never before.
“I have the ability to say a million things to save my ass Vegeta, things you'd probably consider lies anyway…” She finished rinsing and braced her hands on the sink, then hung her head and closed her eyes, for once pushing the mental cobwebs away and freeing her mind from its prison.
“Two…” Came a throaty number, one that sounded more like a growling threat.
“I can say that even if I won't give my body to you, I still want you with every fiber of my being. I want you like I've never wanted any other man before. But then again, you already know that.” She lifted her eyes to stare ahead listlessly through her dark sooty lashes. “I could say I am the one who'll help you achieve what you desire most in life, to be a Super Saiya-jin, but couldn't you somehow enlist my father in your ranks and do without me?”
He lowered his broad body over hers and slid his palms over her hands like warm blankets, both hanging on to the sink like their life depended on it. She knew he got high on the swirl of adrenaline any murderer must experience right before a kill. She could glean that much from the tremors of desire in his ki and how they filtered through his hands into her body.
“Three…” He whispered against her earlobe.
“That you want me too much to let me go and not having the possibility of sleeping with me again must be crushing your pride and burning you alive.” She had started breathing in the same quick deep way she did when they were intimate, and she strived to not move. Carnal desire ran like wildfire through every vein and for a moment she didn't know where she ended and he began. His energy sizzled with barely contained lust but he also remained still against her. “Yet none of that's enough of a reason, Vegeta. At least not to me.”
“Do you have a point?” His voice was grave, more like a purr, as his muscular arms grazed hers and the rough pads of his thumbs glided down her fingers slowly. “Because you're not helping yourself, woman.”
Bulma opened her eyes and reared her head to stare at the polished black marble of the wall. The fact that she hadn't wanted to kill him , that her attempt had been so weak and spiritless had lent her an epiphany. She would fight against the universe for him and there was nothing she could do about it. “The real reason is I believe you don't actually WANT to kill me, Vegeta. The real reason is I believe in you.”
Something tensed inside his body at the sound of those words, gravity sinking his stomach like it weight a ton. All of a sudden his ki became turbulent and washed over her like the rolling waves of a troubled sea.
“Four.” His voice was now uncertain, the word lacking the ruthless determination that'd marked his earlier tirade. His fingers went lax and as they did, she could almost imagine his facial features disarraying.
“I don't know if I'm wrong to believe, but I do. Seeing your blood reminded me how alive you are, how violent your heart beats, stronger than that of any other man I've ever met. If you were as heartless as Frieza or as empty as any of his minions you'd have already done away with me, but you aren't.” She slid a finger over one of his with cautious grace. “Even if you were to kill me tonight, I'd still think life for you can be different. So I won't ever stop believing. And I will die thinking you could be all you were meant to be.”
She inhaled one last time, her fingers curling around his with gentleness, something no one had ever shown him before. Vegeta backed away and stared at her through blank endless eyes. She carefully turned around, her back against the edge of the sink and her soft blue eyes searching his scowl. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he squeezed his eyes shut, hanging his head and tilting it to the side. He struggled to remember what number followed in his little countdown and yet he felt he couldn't count. He was supposed to be the epitome of evil. He was supposed to be all these things he thought he should be and yet, here he was, failing this test like a miserable fool.
“You don't have to kill again, Vegeta.” Her whisper was fraught with faith, bursting, exploding with it and her soul was restless within. “You don't have to do things you don't want to anymore. You don't have to murder tonight.”
He remembered now. Five. Dammit. Five was the number. Say it… say it. End it now. He could almost hear Frieza's cackle. His deranged command all the way from hell. His own father's booming voice filtered through his neurons like a toxin and spurned him on to the bloodshed. Then the voices multiplied, bellowing insults and every denigrating adjective he'd ever been called throughout his young life. Failure, shame, weak and maudlin. The specters hurled the verbal blows at him mercilessly and they lashed through his soul like the first time he'd heard them. They argued she was lying but then he couldn't smell or feel a lie. All he could feel was her honesty, pouring over him and scalding him in the process. The quandary broke him and he gnashed his teeth, grabbing his hair and breathing heavily through his nose. His life, gods, his life never made any sense.
Bulma's eyes widened when he began pounding the wall in a fit of rage. Furious cries accompanied the motions, his fist driving through the now jagged surface over and over again until his skin tore and bled. It ached to see how he hurt himself, the pain and loneliness etched in every blow. The worse was she knew most of that anger and hatred was directed inwards and as much as she wanted, there was nothing she could say to clear the wounds of the past. She extended her arm in his direction, palm held up like a private angel tending a lifeline to a longsuffering victim.
“Vegeta, please…”
At the sound of his name he ceased, but his breathing remained ragged and his semblance shaken. He turned eyes rimmed with fury towards her, teeth grating every word he pronounced. “What have you done to me?” He prowled towards her and snatched her to him roughly, chests meeting and pupils clashing at the same time. His two palms cupped her cheeks, pressing them strongly so her lips puckered. “You drive me crazy. Every little thing you do, every little thing you say. My obsession with you is ruining me. Undo your spell, release me from your powers, you damn Chikyu-jin witch.”
“I-I am not…” She started, but he strengthened his hold. She'd done more than enough talking as far as he was concerned. The fact that he couldn't kill her and he couldn't have her either was maddening him. “I should rape you…”
At that, Bulma's pupils shrunk and he felt a trace of satisfaction when her fear wafted heavily through his nostrils. “I should take you by force and sate my cravings, but I won't. I've never degraded myself by violating a woman and I don't plan on starting now.” His eyes glinted eerily as he roughly trapped her. “I can't kill you and I can't have you and yet you hold me prisoner with no chain in sight.”
His palms freed her face and they landed on her narrow waist, digging fingers with cruel pressure on her now thinner body. He could feel her bones protruding, the hard jutted contours reminding him how much weight she'd lost in these past few days. But it was all irrelevant, for it was her body alone that would do the trick. “Now it turns out you've ruined my taste for whores. I thought I'd sleep with another woman to get this over with.” A dry snort and he continued. “Yet I couldn't even remember I'd taken her card until you pulled it out. Damn great.” He glanced down over the palatable curves of that milky supple body she possessed and she tensed instinctively, her wild spirit not yet ready to be tamed. What a pity she kept denying herself a little of his dominance. After all, he knew for a fact just how much she deep down liked it.
“But you will please me tonight, woman, of that you can be sure.” She gasped and dug her nails into the hard hills of his biceps, shivering at the way he was looking at her. He then gave her a twisted smile. “Don't worry, touching you won't be necessary, but by the time I'm done with you, you'll sure wish I had.”
Bulma felt both nerves and desire curl in her abdomen, constricting her gut. What was he talking about? She was sure he was a man who kept his promises, so he wouldn't be forcing himself on her tonight. But if he wouldn't take her body until she gave in willingly, she had a lot of agony to look forward to. Not being touched by him was, to her, the worst type of punishment.
Quicker than she could register, he whirled her around and hooked his arm around her neck then walked her so she could face the mirrored wall. The reflective surface ran from the tiled marble floor to the ceiling, allowing her a thorough look at herself. She winced at the reflection, not believing how badly she resembled a streetwalker, from the tussled waves of hair to the black mascara smudged around her lids. But he… oh he looked like a prince of darkness, beautiful and deadly from the thick silken hair to the tip of his boots. The gore trailing down his neck, chest and arm only added to his appeal and Bulma found herself licking her lips.
“You like that?” He roughly whispered, letting go of her and placing his palms flat against the cool surface of the mirror. His arms were angled and spread out, framing his victim and trapping her in the little space between him and the mirror. “You want to taste it?” His voice caressed her throat, lips brushing her lightly.
“Why would I?” She said chewing on her lip and looking at him through narrowed eyes.
“You shouldn't but you do. You deny us both a little taste of heaven like the stubborn wench you are even when lust clouds your eyes. Are you wanting me to “change” before you give in to me?” He said with mocking derision “What does it take Bulma? Can't you see you ask too much of me?” He pressed his nose to the side of her face, taking in the aroma of female and wildflower she was emanating. Then he touched a finger to her nape, gliding it smoothly down the arch of her spine. The motion was languid, soft, until he reached the swell of her ass. “What we both know is your curious. You'd like me to show you how I treat a whore, if only for one night. You want to see how it is.”
“I already know how it is.” She spouted sideways. “I can't forget how it is, as a matter of fact. Isn't that how you treated me back in Chikyuu? Weren't you using me like one of your bitches?'”
His full lips broadened into a snide smile and he looked at her through the mirror. She cursed the fact that when it came to matters of the flesh, nothing fazed him. His arrogance was truly monumental. “Girl, you've seen nothing. When you next come to me, I'll show you what it's like to be burning and afraid. Would you like that?”
Bulma exhaled and looked at her flustered double on the wide-length mirror. He glared at her, sliding a powerful hand around her neck and squeezing with remarkable control. It wasn't meant to break but it was enough to make her head feel like it was going to explode. “See, you're going to have to speak tonight to please me. I suggest you wrap that idea around your head.” Bulma, who was looking at herself chin tilted upwards, stretched her neck against his cruel grasp and issued a shuddery breath. “Why don't you tell me what you like, little human. Spill it all out.”
Her bottom was pressed against his hardness, that bulging arousal that pushed into her buttcheeks, feeding the desires of her own flesh. The picture before her was both sweet and macabre, a dark painting where her small body, curvaceous and needy, stood against his broader, more powerful one. “I…I can't do that.”
“Yes you can, and you will. You will give me what I want if you know what's good for you.” He examined the image on the mirror with heated eyes that travelled down to her breasts. They remained glued there, pupils narrowing like an animal scenting an easy prey. “For instance, I can tell you I want to push that flimsy red fabric apart and suck on your hard ripe tits. They have been calling to me all night, beckoning me to touch them. I want to fill my mouth with them and flick my tongue over the tips until they're sore.” Bulma shivered and swallowed hard, exhaling then as a cold sweat of want spread over her. “I want to massage and twist them softly with my murderous hands, grazing my thumbs over the crests and making them yearn for more.” He spoke against her temple, wet lips scorching her with their heat. “…See your face as you ride the pleasure I give you…”
The tiny hairs all over her body stood in attention to his wicked words, heart thumping stalwartly in her chest. “Take it off.” He ordered arrogantly, releasing her neck and placing his palms against the mirror. His breathing still whispered over her skin as he watched her reflection with menacing eyes. Bulma's hands obeyed like he had spoken magic, undoing the knot on her halter neck with ease and following the descent of the whispery garment as it peeled off her skin and hung at her waist. She was now bare, except for the necklace, the hotpants and the heels.
“What would you want me to do to you…” He continued, eying the plump, fleshy mounds of her breasts as the nipples formed into perfect little pebbles.
Bulma's head lolled back, still disbelieving what was happening but not wanting it to stop. She uttered a shaky sigh and a rogue hand snaked up her chest to grab the sensitive flesh of her right breast. She kneaded it lazily before closing her eyes in longing. “Touch me…”
Vegeta's expression changed and he pressed a smirk against the side of her face, lifting an eyebrow at Bulma's reflection. “Roll my heavy breasts on your hands and whisper over them before you savor them.” She added in a hoarsened voice that was trimmed with stark need. She then emitted a sound and her hands folded over the objects of their attention to squeeze them gently. This was the part of her body that had always held his undying admiration and she knew that fully well.
Vegeta sought her lips. “That's it, keep touching yourself.” He commanded right before sucking lightly on her lower lip, biting and tugging with painstaking gentleness. Bulma's rosy tongue ventured out, seeking Vegeta's own counterpart to taste it. The damp sound of their mouths entwining filled the space, kindling the fire between them.
Bulma twisted her neck some more so she could lick the open wound on his neck, and he tensed, rolling his eyes and rearing his gaze to the ceiling. It stung like a mother and yet it felt like the slash was connected to his straining manhood, like her lips pulled on a string directly tied to the swollen sacks of sperm between his thighs. “Mmm… ffuck.” He whispered, fingertips paling as his hands folded into fists against the surface of the mirror.
Her lips became slightly coated with his blood, and she smeared it off with her fingers, laving the metallic taste with her tongue. She then twisted back to regard the mirror and glide fervent hands over the hungry flesh of her bosom. Her eyes were slitted on the reflection, happy to have given him pleasure and pain all in the same motion. A dainty hand covered with his blood pressed down her chest and smeared the crimson substance down her pale damp skin. Her hips swayed slightly as she did, ass rubbing against the tumid flesh trapped behind his pants.
Vegeta's jaw was clenched tight, his eyes gleaming fire when he felt the sultry motions teasing his body. He settled on those pretty, big, round breasts and how they tortured him with their presence alone.
“What else do you like? Tell me your secrets.” He spurned her on, eager to satisfy some endless craving only she could incite in him.
Her index finger was sneaking south, creeping beneath the tight material of the hotpants that hugged her hips so tightly. “Your flesh… big and hard as it desecrates me inch by inch. How fat and veiny it is as it rubs me from the inside.” Her entire frame trembled, fingers finding her own sensitive bud of pleasure and the petals of flesh hooding it.
Vegeta grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her in an unnatural position, sending daggers of pain up her limb. “I did not give you permission to touch yourself down there, slave.” He spoke sadistically, knowing he was pushing her to the edge of pain and deriving his own pleasure from it. This was what he was good at, the art that he had mastered and so very few could boast of. Balancing both sensations was not for the weak of stomach. Playing with fire was not for the incompetent, but he, well, he excelled at administering pain and pleasure in equal doses.
She was his victim, the one he sought to dominate with his lust, hate, and maddened wanton. She was his lewdest sexual fantasy come true.
Kami, her arm hurt, bolts of pain shot through her limb and tore a hoarse cry from her throat. Her body's contortion only kindled his passion and he grinned like a devil into her half-naked reflection. “Beautiful…” He whispered, transfixed in the image of her writhing body. “I want to fuck you right now.” Her mouth became dry at the sound of his dark voice and she attempted to drum up enough saliva to ease the cottony feeling. “I want to do you like an animal. Lick every single inch of your body until your legs grow damp with your own desire. Would you enjoy that?” His question was rhetorical. Truth is he knew how she liked playing these twisted little games; how great she was at feeding his inner monster. She mewled in a blinding mixture of pleasure and pain. Her arm… Oh God, her arm was twisted. “Would you??'”
She stretched her throat and rasped out a yes. “I would.”
“Really?” He added with a crooked smile as he studied her victim. He grabbed a hold of her other arm and twisted it as well, forcing a cry out of the plump crimson lips. Her knees almost knocked together in response, struggling to keep her in a standing position. “That's good because I want to penetrate you. I want to feel your greedy little regions as they milk me dry.”
Bulma, winced, feeling the physical suffering intensified. She instinctively marveled at his ability to control his strength, for if he hadn't he could have snapped her arms like twigs. However as they were, he was administering just the right portion of pain so that lust could be kindled.
He pressed her to the mirror, the coldness stiffening the tips of her breasts and pushing the air out of her lungs at once. A hand held both her wrists behind her and then another one hooked onto her outfit to tear it off with utmost dexterity. The sound of the garment ripping tensed up her thighs and widened her eyes in anticipation. It fell away in scraps, offering a succulent view of her tiny waist and wide womanly hips. The round, perfect flesh of her ass was angled towards him, and her moistened rosy womanhood peered from underneath.
“When I finally get you I am going to spread your legs twenty times in one night so you have a lot of pain to look forward to. Now I want you to touch it for me, stroke it a little so you get a taste of what's coming.”
“You nasty fc-ck.” Her last word got squashed in her throat as he pushed her further against the mirror. The coolness of the surface touching her skin sent ripples of delight through her body until they reached her swollen entrance. “You're going to take every other woman's place, I swear. Weren't you indignant I even thought of doing someone else tonight? Well, now bear with it. Give me what I want and believe it could be way worse. Believe I am merciful for not raping you.”
The cruel grip he maintained on her wrists eased a bit so she could tear one hand free. “You should see what I see right now. Open and begging to be spread… every little thirsty nerve waiting on me.” Then he intensified his hold and spoke against her neck. “I am going to make you come, little one, without even laying a finger on it. You'll imagine it's me touching you and you'll want it to never stop.”
Bulma's chest swelled against the mirror, breasts squeezing and spilling to the sides. “Now, I gave you a direct order and I am waiting.” She grated a harsh breath. If she wanted the pain to go away she'd have to give in to the pleasure, that's how it went with him, so a finger sought that place he was so worked up over, her fingertip circling around the soft delicate flesh.
She opened her mouth in a silent moan. Doing it for him was way better than she could have ever dreamt, and she found her saliva thickening as she fantasized it was him stretching her out to accommodate his length. “Vegeta…” She breathed against the mirror, overtaken in the sinful sensations scourging her body. “I want you to come inside me and never leave. Never leave me.”
He chuckled deep in his throat, watching her finger move into her cleft with torturous need. Dammit, she was tight. He could remember that very well and her finger's motions brought back the memories full force. Vegeta tilted his face slightly to have a better view, more aware than ever of his own jutting desire. He pulled her back against him so he could feast his eyes on the reflection of her naked body. He devoured her contours with unhindered hunger, taking in every swell and dip of his pleasure girl. She'd be his again. She had to.
“If you want it that bad, fuck yourself then... harder.” He said simply, sounding every bit as authoritative as he looked. Bulma parted lips that had gone dry, passing her tongue over them to taste the remains of his coppery blood once more. “Imagine it's me tearing you open. Think I am pressing you against the mirror and plunging into you over and over again. That's the way I'd have you tonight. That's the way I want you.” His voice was now hoarser and his body warmer.
“Vegeta...” She began, but he cut her speech short when he grabbed her throat again and squeezed ever so slightly.
“Vegeta? I am not Vegeta to you. I am the one who violates you, don't you remember?”
Bulma clawed at his forearm desperately, her head thrown back and her ears pulsating with the pressure. He released her just in time, knowing the lack of air actually heightened pleasure when done correctly. The intensification of her lustful scent indicated just that.
She wasn't in the least surprised when he grabbed her hair next in a messy blue bundle. “What did I teach you to call me?” He hissed.
“Master.” She seeped through her teeth, pleasure hitting insolently at the mere mention of the name he liked her using when it was time for punishment. “You egotistical, sick fucker. You are my master.”
“That's better.” He added, smirking, feeling about to explode in his pants as the beautiful sound of the word as it rolled off her lips. She gave him just what he wanted every time. “I want to watch you give in to pleasure. I want to watch it all. ”
Bulma's bare ass pressed against the tight material covering the turgid length of his erection. He was big, she knew that… the touch brought every memory crashing powerfully.
She took in air and did as he commanded and so they both watched concentrated as she slid into her most sensitive regions unashamedly. They imagined it was him burying into her with the thick power he carried, her insides burning in remembrance. The prolonged need had made her walls sleek with sweet moisture and she gasped repeatedly, knowing fully well she was like a dam about to burst.
Vegeta's hands pressed against the mirror again, eyes swimming in barely checked lust as he watched the wicked spectacle he'd created for his own enjoyment. Gods, she was truly fucking beautiful, like dark, sinful poetry to his ears and candy to his eyes. Every little moan, every little gesture on her face sending him over the edge. No other woman would do.
Bulma was forced to stand with her legs apart, her breasts perky and the Saiyan Rock of Fire resting heavily over them as she touched herself like he so lewdly desired. “You have to wait for me.” He growled. She could hear the sound of a button as it snapped free and a zipper as it backtracked. She knew right away what was about to happen. She could imagine it all in her head, his big strong hand enfolding himself and handling his desire with just the right pressure, wrist twisting masterfully as he stroked it.
Bulma quivered. “I am going to…” She gasped.
“No you won't. Not until it's right.” He instructed roughly. One of his palms covered one of her hands against the mirror and the other one grabbed his stiffened member. Then their mouths met in a messy kiss that was more teeth clashing and tongues flicking than anything else. Her knees, long turn to jelly threatened to give away as she watched him watch her through the mirror.
“Let it end.” She implored, fingertips wrinkling with the moisture that dampened her thighs and ran down free.
“Let it end? Don't make me laugh, woman.” He said with cynicism, his knuckle brushing against the smooth surface of her ass as he sated his flesh from tip to base. The sensitive peak of his member was so close to her skin it was terribly frustrating. The tip burnt with the need to touch her but he couldn't break his promise. This was not the moment to have her yet, but it was taking every ounce of his much prided control to not give in to his basest needs. “Beg me, to spend it all over you.” He stated with a barely recognizable voice.
She breathed and paused her motions, her heart skipping a beat as she felt the imminence of a climax. What good would it do to disobey him now? “Please, I want to feel you over me….” Came her ragged whisper.
Vegeta grunted and triggered his release with a few more motions, dispensing it over her sweaty white skin. His expression remained stern even through his orgasm but his brow was covered in perspiration.
“You're mine.” He stated, his pleasure extending out like a mantle of heat over her. As it did, Bulma gasped, eyes widening when she felt her own climax pushing its way through.
She cried out, sinking to the floor and starting to convulse; her heart pounded like it was going to tear her chest open. “I… can't…” Came her moan. “I can't anymore.” One hand slid down the floor and she lay on her side on the ground, her insides in spasms.
He placed a boot over her spine, pressing down gently and pinning her to the ground, then stared down his nose with hard piercing eyes. “You can't take it anymore?” He sounded like he was enjoying himself, cruel and harsh, self-satisfaction etched in every syllable. “Let it out then.”
Bulma shrieked, the loud ringing sound bouncing off the walls of the chamber in its stridence. She looked gorgeous, sprawled on the floor in the throws of the pleasure he'd given her. He applied more pressure with his boot over her back, the smell of her desire as it spilled out rendering him half-drunk.
“Nice.” He whispered, watching her heaving on the floor and riding every last ounce of the rapture. If he could, he'd have her like this forever.
After a moment or so of tilting his neck to study her expression, he let the pressure go and nudged her lightly on the ribs with the tip of his combat boot. He didn't say anything, merely assessed her state of consciousness to see if she had blacked out already or was still debating herself between sleep and awareness.
Bulma sighed and shivered once more before darkness came over demanding to take her. Every single muscle in her body went lax as the last ripples of ecstasy he'd given her ebbed. She couldn't believe he'd made her burn without even touching her and couldn't fathom what it'd be like if he ever laid hands on her again. She probably wouldn't survive, but it would most definitely be the sweetest way to die.
That was the last thought to cruise her mind as she lent into the arms of oblivion. That and the sour fact that he'd left her there, thrown and used like another one of his whores. And then just before she walked through the threshold of sleep, worn and exhausted, she felt him pick her up in his arms, wrapping her in one of his silken black robes in the process. She lied in his arms like a broken doll, head slung back over the cradle of his arm as he carried her through the halls of the suite and reached his bedroom.
She had vowed to never lie on that lush, interminable bed, but she didn't protest as her body made contact with its soft, cushioned surface. She curled into a tight little knot and buried her face in the velvety pillows that smelled like him, issuing a tiny smile. That crisp, masculine scent that so inflamed her blood travelled to her lungs and swirled into her bloodstream as she waged a battle with consciousness, one she eventually lost.
She'd found pleasure without bounds in the arms of her man. The man she'd willingly die for. His name may have slipped her lips, but she wouldn't have known. Sleep had already snatched her away to a dark place of endless satisfactions.