Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yellow Roses ❯ Just This Once ( Chapter 3 )

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

Vegeta walked hurriedly through the crowded streets, packed with faceless, uninteresting warriors who seemed to be getting ready for a well-deserved night of drinking and fucking after returning from whatever meaningless mission they’d been assigned to.

He was late already, mad at himself for having been stupid enough to agree to have a drink with Nappa for a couple of hours, not even knowing what exactly had made him relent and accept his subordinate’s insignificant invitation to begin with. The only explanation he could find was that he’d simply chosen to indulge the old man, who was getting unusually sentimental lately, particularly so ever since Raditz had died mere weeks earlier. Their last purging mission had been filled with Nappa’s annoying chatter about their extinct race and long-gone home planet. Insipidly dull nights spent sitting by the fire, surrounded by the sickening odor of the dead bodies both Saiyans had left piled up all over the place. Repetitive legends of mythological heroes and courageous, formidable warriors floating tediously in his mind as he chewed on the rubbery, tasteless meat of the revolting dead alien a little harder than he should.

The Prince had finally come to the realization that he didn’t care much for his people’s legends anymore, certainly not as much as he used to back in the good old days. As a child, Vegeta had worshiped those men, memorizing such tales word by word, and even begging his caretaker to narrate them repeatedly before going to bed, falling into a deep sleep invaded by buoyant dreams featuring idolized conquerors and epic battles.

But things were different now…

The child had become a man, and those bright, hopeful dreams had slowly, but implacably, morphed into the darkest of nightmares. As he’d grown older, bitter cynicism had taken over, and the list of matters that Vegeta genuinely cared about had been basically distilled to two very simple principles: survival and revenge. Gone were the days of naïve, optimistic foolishness, after all, no one in their right mind would give credit to such tall tales after having been exposed to the chaos and torture the Saiyan Prince had been raised amongst.

In his life, there was no room for any more fantasies, other than the only one that truly mattered, that of him surpassing himself, crossing the barriers of his own strength and ascending to the Legendary status which was meant to be his birthright.

Super Saiyan.

Everything else was superfluous, and absolutely nothing else mattered. There was no past and no future, no whims or illusions except for that which was tangible, real, and nothing would ever be more real than the sound of Frieza’s cold, slimy neck cracking triumphantly beneath his lethal hand when he ultimately became strong enough to end his Master’s repugnant life. Frieza’s death was now the sole purpose of his existence, the golden goal that motivated him to keep going whenever things got hard and the whole world crumbled around him, burying him underneath its crippling weight and making him feel as if he could barely breathe anymore.          

That is, of course, until she’d walked right into his life…

Bulma.

The ravishing woman who was supposed to be a meaningless one-night stand and, in the end, had turned his bleak, monotonous world upside down. All he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first laid eyes on her was to conquer her, to possess her, to take as much pleasure as he could from that flawless, supple body and then leave her behind evermore once he’d had his fill of her.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Surely, Vegeta’d had the unnerving suspicion, right from the start, that this unique creature was unlike any other female who’d ever crossed his path. But his oversized Saiyan ego had taken charge, as usual, lying to him, slyly tricking him into believing that he had matters under control and that, even if he ended up enjoying the exotic little earthling too much for his own good, he’d be strong-willed enough to turn around and walk away before trouble ensued and he irreparably lost himself in her.

But one night had turned into two, and two nights had become three and, before he knew it, he’d seen Bulma on five occasions; every single time he’d been off-duty ever since their first intimate encounter had taken place.

She’d developed into an addiction…

A shameful, uncontrollable addiction he’d gladly succumbed to without even bothering to put up a real fight, like a nectarous, poisonous drug coursing wildly through his veins and hopelessly pervading his senses.

The erotic dreams he’d fantasized about, before he’d had his first chance to take her, had now been replaced by the dangerously vivid memories of the enthralling way in which the woman had instinctively responded to his wicked touch. While Nappa spent his nights nostalgically reminiscing about some ancient tales no one even cared about anymore, Vegeta had become frighteningly good at mastering the art of disengaging from reality, evoking every impurely explicit detail of the nights he’d shared with Bulma.

The magnetic siren had come to be his most cherished distraction, a blazing spark of blue erupting into his consistently grey world. Discovering the comforting warmth of her body had made his lonely nights seem a little colder, and everything felt flavorless after having run his depraved tongue across every delectable curve of her anatomy, her distinctive, honeyed taste forever imprinted in his mouth.    

All he’d ever looked for in a woman was release, just a single night of wild, mindless sex, with no names, no explanations and no promises; a few mind-numbing hours where he could unleash his pent-up rage and forget about the outside world and the cosmic joke of a life he’d been forced to endure.

But this time, things were different.

It’d always been exceedingly easy for him to let go of a woman, often forgetting their humdrum names before he was even done getting dressed in the morning. But, when it came to Bulma, the more he took, the more he wanted, and nothing seemed to ever appease his gluttonous Saiyan appetites. His life was now a bizarre routine of death, destruction and the almost masochistic obsession of recalling those ardent, unbelievable nights of pleasure, with agonizing wealth of detail, over and over again. 

 

By the end of their first encounter, he had her trembling in his arms, madly screaming his name…

The Prince would never forget the way she felt underneath him, trembling like a leaf in nervous anticipation. Bulma’s distinctive scent told him she wasn’t untouched, but her oddly charming timidity clearly revealed her inexperience and, for some strange reason, knowing that she hadn’t been with too many men before him, pleased him immensely.

“Remember, this is just a fuck. Nothing more…” he whispered hoarsely against her lips, secretly wondering whether he was actually warning the shivering belle beneath him or himself.

Bulma’s eyes widened slightly, but she immediately nodded demurely in agreement, the tiny palms of her clammy hands pressed against his broad chest, silently begging him to move gently as she felt his thick cock entering her. He gladly obliged, making use of his masterful self-control, furiously clenching his teeth at the tight wetness engulfing him, fitting him like a warm, delicious glove as he took his time with her. He fucked her slowly, excruciatingly slowly, proudly taking pleasure in the heavenly way in which her soft form gradually relaxed, moaning and shuddering in need as she took all of him and begged for more.

By the end of the night, the nails of those shy, insecure little hands ended up fervently scratching his muscled shoulders, clinging to him for dear life as he frantically thrusted into her, again and again, in feverish desperation. Morning found them with Bulma’s head hanging off the edge of her narrow bed, a waterfall of damp, turquoise curls touching the floor and her now raspy voice repeatedly hollering his name, sounding like the sweetest of melodies to his ears.

When the first rays of sun brightly entered her small apartment, cruelly announcing that the fantasy was over, he finally let go of her, with the dejected reluctance of a child who was being forced to stop playing with his new favorite toy.

No words were exchanged while Vegeta got dressed and, as he exited her place, he stood for a few hesitant minutes on her balcony, unable to leave her behind without shamefully taking one last look at her. He found her still lying indolently on the bed, staring at him with exhausted but questioning eyes and that gorgeous, voluptuous figure temptingly half-covered by the torn sheets.

She was perfect.

And in that moment, as they exchanged that final, silent glance, both lovers knew he’d come back for more.         

 

By the end of their second encounter, her inhibitions had loosened up…

He’d met Bulma in her lab, too impatient to wait until night came in order to see her again. Much to his dismay, the woman wasn’t alone anymore after having been assigned some kind of assistant due to how remarkably pleased his superiors were with her work. So, the Saiyan sat quietly by her side, pretending to inspect her craftsmanship as she worked on his scouter with skillful but a tad edgy hands. Vegeta couldn’t help but smirk crookedly at the woman’s excitability, both relieved and elated to see that his presence still had such a potent effect on the beautiful earthling, knowing that she’d undoubtedly still be willing to give herself to him once again.

This time, when the scientist was done fixing the small device and it was time for him to request a brand-new armor, Vegeta chose to join her instead of waiting for her in the main area as he’d done in the past, muttering some pathetic excuse about him wishing to ‘choose the model himself’. The knowing look in her impatient blue eyes and the adorable way in which she unconsciously bit her lower lip, told him that she’d cleverly understood his impish intentions, and she simply assented, asking him to follow her in the most formal, collected manner she was able to muster in the presence of others.

The warrior walked through the cold hallway, following her closely like some silly, lovesick teenager as her unique scent overwhelmed him, luring him and making him feel, in some peculiar way, as if he were coming home, returning to something that belonged to him and him alone. Once they were at a safe distance from privy ears, Bulma halted her steps and, for a fleeting moment, panic and disappointment overcame him when he saw her actually looking through the countless sets of armor hanging from the metallic walls. But, when her shaky hands gripped one of the hard objects for far too long and she finally turned towards him with that irresistible mixture of coyness and desire swimming in her eyes, he knew triumphantly that his first instinct had been right.

“You… You came back…” Bulma whispered shyly, blushing prettily at the sight of the victorious smirk already adorning the Saiyan’s lascivious lips.

Vegeta wasted no time, grasping her wrists possessively and pushing her back against the cool walls, just the way he’d done it back in her apartment.

“Did you miss me, little Bulma?” He asked huskily against her lips, lifting her arms above her head and kissing her hungrily, grunting in satisfaction when she immediately responded, eagerly opening her mouth for him and delicately caressing his tongue with her own, making him realize in shame just how much he’d truly missed her.

Once he found the strength to let go of her thin wrists, he expertly unzipped her heavy overalls, devouring with dark, predatory eyes, the sight of her almost naked body underneath, clad only in a lace black bra with matching panties. Bulma’s shabby underwear had definitely seen better days, but the mouthwatering body wearing it was looking better than ever. She gasped in avid anticipation when one of his rough hands travelled across her abdomen, tracing a sensuously slow path towards that secret place he’d come to know so well, right between her thighs.

“You didn’t answer me, woman…” Vegeta whispered mockingly, leisurely running his middle finger over the old fabric of her panties, his eyes never leaving hers. “Did you miss me?” He asked again, delighting in the way her body quivered and her full mouth anxiously gasped for air, already too excited to form a coherent sentence other than the desperate moan that escaped her lips when he introduced one thick finger inside of her, lazily moving it in and out and savoring the indecent sounds of her wet little pussy while he worked her mercilessly.

Oh, yes…

She was ready for him.

She’d always be ready for him…

“Oh, Bulma… I’m hurt…” Vegeta kept taunting her in a hushed whisper, having far too much fun tormenting the sweet, innocent woman now clinging precariously to his shoulders with desperate hands. “You don’t want to confess that you missed me?” He asked again, curling his diabolical finger and hitting just the right spot. Her head instantly fell back, hitting the wall with a loud bang as a chocked sob left her throat and her tiny fists clutched the fabric of his shirt. “That much… Uh?” He chuckled proudly, never ceasing his torturous ministrations.

“Y-Y-You… Y-You a-asshole…” She groaned pitifully, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, knowing that if he kept fingerfucking her like this she’d cum on his hand any minute now.

“I knew it…” Vegeta smirked maliciously, covering her blasphemous mouth with a large, calloused hand. “I fucking knew it…” He whispered once more, pressing his already damp brow against her own and looking her right in the eye. “You’re just a vulgar little wench, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened in shock and offence, and her small teeth sank furiously into the palm of his hand, her sudden defiance surprising even her. Vegeta hissed in a frenzy, his cock already hard as a rock as he pressed his big hand even harder against her angry lips. “You’re going to pay for that…” He threatened heatedly, removing his fingers from her warmth and yanking at the collar of her work clothes with one hand as he kept her mouth shut with the other. “Take your fucking clothes off for me, Bulma…” He ordered menacingly.

And she did.

Jittery hands reluctantly letting go of him, knowing that her wobbly legs wouldn’t support her weight much longer. Those very same hands clumsily removing her dirty overalls while he kept her pinned against the wall, forbidding her from muttering a single word against him.

She couldn’t even remove her boots when he lifted her off the ground, grabbing her by her plump little ass and waiting until she’d firmly trapped his hips between that glorious pair of long legs before he released her, pulling her damp underwear to the side and ramming his swollen dick into her, thrusting madly inside of her as she kept groaning and whimpering against his hand.

He couldn’t understand it.

It was impossible for such a woman to exist...

That small, fragile body holding onto him, writhing and squirming underneath his savage touch; her otherworldly blue eyes, furious and wild, but begging, begging for him to never stop this, this… Whatever this was that was happening between them… So he kept going, pushing, shoving, plunging viciously into her with bruising force until her climax hit her like a tidal wave and her insolent mouth bit his hand again, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, getting lost in the uncontrollably intense pleasure. He soon followed her, her tight, wet cunt greedily milking every single drop of his hot cum as he spilled himself violently right inside of her. 

Vegeta held her against the wall for a moment, waiting for both of them to cool down before reality would force them to let go of each other yet again. There was a strange satisfaction in losing control like this, in knowing, with absolute certainty, that he held just as much power over this woman as she held over him. When he finally uncovered her mouth, he feared the words that would come out of her, but Bulma remained silent instead, smiling idly at him and grabbing the neck of his shirt, pulling him closer for one final, languid kiss.

The most delicious part was seeing her getting dressed and rearranging that shimmery mass of blue curls, composing herself in order to face her assistant again. It was as if they both shared the most forbidden of secrets. When they returned to her lab and she gave him his old scouter back under the astonished eye of the stranger in the room, their fingers touched for an instant, and she smirked lewdly at him, letting him know that, this time, she was the one who wasn’t done with him yet.     

And she wasn’t.

When he landed on her balcony on that very same night, she was already waiting for him, ready to seek some sweet, sweet revenge. The moment she tugged him by his armor and demanded that he took it off, he knew he’d awaken a brazen, carnal side of her that no other man had ever had access to. And he gladly complied, quietly undressing for her and offering no resistance whatsoever when she pushed him on the bed and crawled atop of him, like an obscene little kitten getting her claws ready to embark on a dangerous hunting session.

She rode him indecently, her hips grinding, flouncing like the most exotic of dancers. Hazy blue eyes gazing defiantly right into his, nails raking across his hot, drenched chest, playfully grazing and pinching his hardened nipples as she kept pushing his body relentlessly, driving him over the edge. And just as she felt his cock twitching, ready to burst inside of her, she stopped, her tight balminess cruelly abandoning his engorged arousal and making him whimper pitifully at the loss of her warmth.

“Do you miss me now, Prince Vegeta?” She whispered provocatively against his panting mouth.

His entire body trembled in need, shaky hands itching to touch her, to grab those creamy hips of hers and lift her body, impaling her right on top of his dick and show her who was truly in charge here.

He could kill her. He knew it, and so did she, and yet she kept playing with him, staring at him with unnerving confidence, as if she knew he’d never hurt her for some unexplainable reason, a reason his dazed mind didn’t even wish to consider right now. But he found himself taking pleasure in the sensual enjoyment of her radiant face, and in the fact that such a powerless creature would defy him in such a bold manner. So he waited, lusting for her, enduring the torture of her smooth slickness as she kept rubbing her clit against him, selfishly seeking her own gratification and tempting him, caressing his inflamed erection with her womanhood and ultimately denying him that final taste of release over, and over, and over again, until his pride gave up on all resistance and he surrendered to her wicked witchcraft.

“W-Woman…” Vegeta groaned gruffly, his lips dry, fingers digging so hard into the top of her milky thighs he could almost feel the bruises forming in her soft flesh. “F-Finish it…”

And sweet Heavenly Gods, that smile…

That smug, glorious smile of triumph on her lips was worth every single second of suffering and humiliation he’d agreed to be subjected to. She graciously lifted her hips once more, allowing him to enter her, chewing on her lip as she rode him, his tail possessively wrapped around her narrow waist, its tip taunting and stimulating her bud as he filled her up completely, screaming like a wild beast when her tight little pussy contracted around him, fiercely squeezing him as she orgasmed and he finally let go, savagely cumming inside of her.

Payback had never been sweeter…

 

By the end of their third encounter, he’d made her laugh…

They’d been lying on the bed, dozing lethargically, utterly spent after a particularly mind-blowing session of steamy, passionate sex. At some point during the night, Bulma had rolled on her side and he’d lazily imitated her actions, pressing his chest against the lush skin of her back, one of his large hands on top of her hip and his mischievous tail treacherously encircling her tiny waist, a gesture of intimacy he’d very rarely, almost never, allowed himself in the company of a woman.

And then it happened.

The tip of his tail twitched during his light sleep and she giggled sleepily, the cheerful, luminous sound awakening him like a flash of lightning, evoking a warm, foreign emotion inside of him. He’d never heard her laugh. Vegeta had seen her frightened or angrily disobedient, he’d caught glimpses of her aching sadness and the gloriousness of her sumptuous arousal, but he’d never truly seen her happy, not like this, not with him.

The Saiyan briefly wondered, for the very first time, if she’d always been like this in her past life, that peaceful existence so viciously stolen from her. Perhaps laughter had been common for her back then, and the more serious, subdued personality he’d been privy to was just a mask she’d chosen to wear in order to survive in her brutally hostile environment.

His suspicions were proven right when, just as she felt him reticently unwrap his furry appendage off her petite form, Bulma looked at him from above her shoulder, smiling softly at him.

“No… Please…” She pleaded in a childish whisper, scrunching her nose charmingly. “Do it again… It’s so cute…”

Cute.

The blasted word he’d also heard for the very first time that night, and which he quickly learnt was one of her favorite terms when it came to describing him. Apparently, everything about him was ‘cute’, from his ‘cute little butt’ to his ‘cute grumpy frown’, and slowly but surely, the Prince was privileged enough to become the only one able to share and, much to his shame to enjoy, a more relaxed, joyful side of the beautiful woman.

After a few unsure minutes, as soon as Bulma’s deep breathing announced that she’d fallen back asleep, he hesitantly wrapped his tail around her midriff once again. And when the naughty, fuzzy tip tickled her, this time on purpose, and his lover’s girlish giggles inundated the room, Vegeta was unable to erase the ghost of the smile drawing itself on his lips as he brushed them against her velvety shoulder.        

 

By the end of their fourth encounter, she’d stolen a secret from him…

He’d seen her stand languorously from the bed, the sound of her bare feet padding softly on the cold tiles as she walked to the bathroom, grabbing an empty glass and filling it up with tap water, drinking thirstily from it.

Even though he’d been covering his face tiredly with his forearm, pretending not to be paying her any mind, he couldn’t take his damned eyes away from her. Every insignificant thing Bulma did or said, every feminine movement, every graceful gesture, every soft word that came out of her pretty mouth made him secretly marvel that this odd little creature had somehow become a part of his dreary world.

So, she’d come back to him, still holding the now half-empty glass in one hand and cutely wiping off the moisture from her lips with the back of the other. After Vegeta grunted in quiet refusal when she’d offered to share her cooling drink with him, Bulma simply shrugged, leaving the glass on her nightstand and laying back on the bed. She stretched languidly, with no inhibitions and a deep, satisfied hum, completely relaxed by her lover’s side as she closed her eyes and reveled in the sweet remnants of her last wave of intense pleasure. It’d become almost a routine for them, those few moments sharing long, comfortable silences until they were ready to engage in another round of senseless fucking and dirty talk.

But this time, Bulma turned slowly to the side, reaching for the scouter that rested patiently on her small piece of furniture, and she held it in her hands, her fingers twirling and exploring it, examining the old relic with snooping, almost amused eyes and shaking her head with a tiny chuckle.

“So…” She finally whispered, breaking the silence in the room, her eyes never leaving the small device in her hands. “What’s the deal with this old thing? Why won’t you get rid of it?”

Whatever made him answer the way he did, he didn’t know, but Vegeta’s secret escaped his lips before he actually had the time to consider the consequences of his fiercely guarded revelation.

“It was my father’s…” He confessed in a voice so low she could barely hear it, almost immediately cursing himself for letting his guard down. When Bulma didn’t utter another word, he finally caved in and opened his weary eyes, grudgingly looking at her with curiosity.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he discovered, for the way the soft-hearted girl was staring at him, looking at him in a way no one, absolutely no one, had ever looked at him before. Is was as if she were seeing him for the very first time, as if he’d just unveiled a part of himself he’d never been fearless enough to bare in front of anyone.

They remained that way for countless minutes and, by the time Bulma’s misty eyes returned to the only object Vegeta’s father had ever left for him, she looked at it with brand new eyes, carefully running her long fingers across it one final time before depositing it on top of her nightstand with utmost care, as if she were handling the most precious treasure she’d ever come across.

When Bulma crawled on top of him, her tousled blue hair cascading over his chest and framing that gorgeous face of hers, she leaned down and kissed him lovingly, engaging their mouths in a long, drawn kiss. And if he hadn’t known any better, if he hadn’t had the absolute, inalienable conviction that a murdering bastard like him didn’t deserve such a gift, he could have sworn he could taste the compassion pouring from her lips and right into his blackened soul.

 

By the end of their fifth encounter, he did the one thing he’d never done, not even once, in his entire lifetime: he made her a promise…

Bulma’d been standing by the doorframe of her small bathroom’s entrance, freshly showered, glistening water drops dripping from her still damp hair and an old pink towel enveloping her perfect naked form. She’d been gawking at him the same way she always did in the morning, with that girlish fascination that made his chest shamefully swell with pride, admiring every single muscle of his vigorous body as he got dressed, and with that unnerving tinge of disappointment that Vegeta had come to know far too well by now. The woman made him believe, even without words, that she’d miss him, almost as if she missed him already way before he’d actually parted from her.

And then Bulma muttered a question she’d never risked asking before, the one question that would truly and irreparably change things between them from that moment on.

“When are you coming back?” She whispered shyly, her pale hands anxiously clutching her towel as she expected his reply, like a prisoner awaiting a sentence that could potentially shatter her life.  

Vegeta inhaled sharply through his nose as he adjusted his boots, his mind racing at a million miles per hour, trying to choose his words wisely as he attempted to come up with some excuse he deemed acceptable enough. In theory, it shouldn’t have been hard. It shouldn’t have been hard at all to ask her to mind her own goddammed business, letting her know who was really in control around here and spitting out that he owed no explanations to anybody, especially to some wretched female who didn’t mean a thing to him. Every single woman he’d fucked in the past had known better than to presume that they’d ever see him again, much less having the gall to demand an exact date on when their next encounter would take place.

A date was tangible, something that could be numbered, limited, something that would make things real between them.

The promise that he’d return to her…

So, the Prince took a deep breath, getting ready to give the presumptuous woman a piece of his mind. But, one look at those turquoise eyes, simulating indifference but drowning in hopeful expectation, made him instantly bite his tongue at the painfully shocking realization that he’d genuinely hurt her if he just dismissed her the way he would if she were just some common hussy.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t hurt her.

And he didn’t even want to know why he was incapable of causing her any pain. All he knew was that there was only one possible response that would alleviate his lover’s apprehension.

‘Target: Planet Quo-148 – 3 Days to reach destination – 2 Day purging mission – 3 Days to return’

Vegeta stood in front of her, drinking in her ethereal beauty with unreadable eyes, as he always did right before he was about to abandon her, fearing that this would be the last time he’d ever see her. After all, if there was one piece of wisdom he’d acquired through the years, it was the total inevitability that nothing lasted, and that a warrior like him should never, under any circumstances, take anything or anyone for granted.

“Eight days,” he finally revealed in the most neutral voice he could muster.

The sheer joy in Bulma’s eyes, her gentle smile and the maddeningly tender way in which she caressed his cheek, making his skin burn in sweltering need, made him realize he’d made the right choice.

“Be careful…” She whispered with honest concern in her voice, her fingertips indolently tracing the contours of his jaw one final time, as if she were committing them to memory until they’d be reunited again.

Careful.

He was about to annihilate the entire population of some godforsaken rock in the middle of Space and she was worried, worried about him.

And the most preposterous thing was that it felt good. It felt surprisingly good to know there was someone, anyone, but particularly a kind-hearted creature like Bulma, who was truly and deeply concerned about him. Wishing him well, in spite of knowing just what kind of a heartless monster he was and the horrible, despicable acts he committed for a living.

It felt unbelievably good to know that she’d be waiting for him to come back to her…   

 

And now here he was, proudly standing by the door of the building where Bulma’s lab was located, his arrogant, indifferent stance poorly concealing the skittish nerves that fluttered in his stomach whenever he was about to meet his flirtatious little minx once again.

At the beginning of this peculiar arrangement, when their illicit affair had first started, he’d often hesitated for hours on end before finally caving in and visiting the woman, like a rowdy brat about to play mischief, but secretly knowing just how wrong his actions really were. But now, as Vegeta walked confidently into the edifice, he did so with the full acceptance of the humbled addict who’d given up on any resistance, gladly surrendering, sealing up his fate and desperately seeking to get his fix, the poisonous nectar that emanated from her and her alone, helping him fall into oblivion, getting lost within her welcoming body and making his demons go away, if only for a few blissful hours at a time.

The place’s ambiance felt different, definitely quieter than usual. And the first thing the Prince noticed, not without a sigh of relief, was that his lover’s friend, the blonde psychopath who pretended to work there too, was not sitting by the reception’s desk, which was now oddly empty instead. ‘No matter…’, he thought to himself, shrugging carelessly. The crazy woman’s absence didn’t bother him just as long as he found Bulma right where she was meant to be, eagerly awaiting him and ready to fall into his arms. Besides, ever since his first night together with the blue haired scientist, and based on the cheeky looks that Launch threw him every time he visited his lover’s workplace, Vegeta’d had the unnerving suspicion that Bulma had shared certain details about their private affair with her best friend. The Saiyan didn’t possess much knowledge on what was it that females discussed when they were alone together, but he figured that perhaps they had a thing for disclosing intimate information to each other about their personal relationships with men.  

With great self-assurance, he stepped into the long corridor that separated the hall from the cold laboratory, only to grimly find out that the woman wasn’t there either, discovering only her new assistant, that small green alien who’d been assigned to work by her side some weeks earlier, in her place. At the sound of the warrior’s footsteps, the shorter man quickly turned around, immediately recognizing the Saiyan killer, something he’d done way before he’d gotten used to seeing him hanging around Bulma whenever he needed repairs done in his scouter. Vegeta was regarded, after all, as one of the strongest, most dangerous members of Frieza’s army, so the petrified manner in which his woman’s subordinate was observing him was something he was quite used to by now. 

“P-Prince Vegeta,” the alien stuttered, greeting him with utmost respect as he bowed slightly. “W-What can I do for you, Sir?”

The Saiyan walked a few steps into the room, arms firmly crossed over his chest as he examined the place angrily, his sharp eyes twisted in a scowl so fierce that would put fear into the heart of the King of Hades himself.

“Where’s the woman?” He simply asked.

“Th-The woman? Wh-What woman?” The assistant replied nervously, swallowing a thick, uneasy lump in his throat.

“The woman,” he snarled menacingly, already losing his patience as he struggled to ignore the sensation of pure panic arising inside of him. “The woman who works here! You stupid moron! Where is she?!”

The green man’s eyes widened, his fear towards the murdering warrior standing beside him growing by the second as he nervously stammered his reply. “Uh… Oh! Uh… Sh-She… Uh… Sh-She… W-Well something… S-S-Something happened... And… Uh…”

“Alright! I’ve had enough of this shit!” Vegeta roared furiously, grabbing the man by his short neck and lifting him off the ground. “Where the fuck is the woman?!”

“Sh-She’s d-dead!” The alien yelled in fright, eyes squeezed shut, terrified, waiting for the Saiyan to end his life any minute now.

Silence.

The most unsettling, chilling silence floated in the air while the warrior’s hysterical mind assimilated the disturbing news.

She was dead.

Bulma, his Bulma, was dead...

He should be thankful, grateful that fate had finally made the choice to get rid of the alluring woman for him, because the Gods knew he’d been too pathetically weak to walk away from her on his own. She’d been a distraction, a mere diversion who’d been meant to be just a sexy little dolly to play with for a night, but who’d slowly but implacably taken control of him, disrupting his life in ways he’d never imagined.

And now she was gone.

That was it.

It was time to go, time to turn around, exit this blasted place and get ready to forget. And yet, he felt sick, literally physically ill at the thought of never seeing Bulma ever again; and he wanted, needed, to know what exactly had happened to her, as if the knowledge of every scabrous, morbid detail would somehow keep the woman still close to him.

“How?” He demanded in a gruff, intimidating voice, still holding the green alien by the neck. “How did she die?”

“Sh-She… She was k-killed, my Prince…” The smaller man susurrated, still shaken and utterly confused as to why this terrifying mercenary showed so much interest in the particulars of the murder of such an insignificant being.

Vegeta took in a big breath, his mouth dry, fighting to keep his murderous instincts at bay. He knew that Frieza’s scientists were usually off bounds, which meant that killing the dwarf idiot in cold blood was, most likely, not a very bright idea.

“Who?”

“Wh-Who…? Wh-Who what, my P-Prince?”

The Saiyan’s lethal fingers dangerously tightened around the alien’s neck, who was now precariously gasping for air, his short legs wriggling frantically in the air.

“Who killed her?! You idiot!!”

“Oh… Oh! I… Uh… I don’t know, m-my Prince! J-Just some… S-Some warrior from L-Lord Frieza’s a-army… I… I’d never… N-Never seen him bef-before…!”

Vegeta’s dark eyes squinted in rage and skepticism, slightly cooler than before but not yet satisfied with the dwarf’s vague replies.

“How?”

“Wh-What?”

“How did she die?” He enquired once more, throwing the man on the ground, his mouth curling into a repulsed sneer at the deplorable sight of the man nervously running his shaky hands all over his throat and releasing short puffs of air, relieved to have been spared by the Saiyan Prince.

“I… I don’t know, S-Sir… We just… We heard some noise, j-just some people y-yelling and it just… We j-just run to the… To the entrance... But it was too late…” The green alien sighed erratically, shaking his head in frustration. “It… It was too late… There was blood… Blood everywhere and she… She was gone… Just… Just gone…”

Vegeta run his hands crossly across his face, molars grating, chest tightening at the thought of his lover’s radiant, lifeless body, laying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood, brutally murdered by one of his Master’s soldiers. He was livid, both at the news of Bulma’s death and at the incredibly foreign emotions flowing through him right now. He should be pleased that the woman, a mere liability, had left his life for good, but all he could feel was an unprecedented fury taking over, not only at the depressing thought of never seeing that adorable face ever again, but at the impotence of not being able to, at the very least, find out who her killer was so he could avenge her death.

He truly was the most pathetic excuse for a warrior who’d ever lived…  

“Prince Vegeta,” the alien interjected, regaining some of his confidence back now that the Saiyan seemingly had no intention of ending his miserable life. “Is there…? Is there any way in which I may assist you, S-Sir?”

The warrior’s lips twitched in disgust, wanting nothing more than to leave that lousy laboratory as soon as possible. The entire goddamned place still smelled of her, of that balmy, enticing scent he’d never be able to drown into ever again…

“No,” he replied stoically, turning on his heels and heading for the exit door.

“If… If it makes you f-feel any better, Sir, it was just… Just a matter of time…”

Vegeta stopped dead in his tracks, his nostrils flaring irately. Perhaps he’d end up killing the green prick after all. “What did you just say?” He asked quietly, his back still turned on the alien dwarf.

“The woman. Sh-She was trouble…” He whispered timidly. “Always… A-Always yelling and swearing at everyone. I… We… We always thought that she’d… Well… I guess she finally crossed the wrong person…”

Vegeta set his eyes on the assistant one final time, entirely perplexed by the fool’s description of his dead lover.

It didn’t make any sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He spat out in angry disconcert, a rare spark of hope emerging within his soul. “Always yelling and swearing at everyone?”

“Y-Yes, Prince Vegeta… Th-The woman…” The shorter man carried on, not fully understanding what was happening anymore. “Th-The blonde… The b-blonde woman…”

The Saiyan’s ruthless eyes widened, finally comprehending what had actually transpired in his absence and feeling that tiny spark of faith grow bit by bit.

“The blonde woman is the one who got killed?” He asked, hardly able to hide the expectation in his tone.

“Y-Yes Sir, I believe… I believe her name was Launch, my Prince…”

“What happened to the other one?”

“Wh-What other one?”

“The other woman! You stupid asshole!” Vegeta yelled impatiently, his rage planting fear in the green dwarf’s heart once more. “The one with blue hair!!!”

“Oh! Right! Yeah… She… She must be at home I suppose…” The weaker man promptly explained.

“At home?” The Prince asked distrustfully, a doubtful scowl crossing his stern face. “You mean…? You mean she’s still alive?”

The alien nodded anxiously in confirmation. “Oh, yes Prince Vegeta! Very much so!”   

Vegeta’s eyes closed fleetingly as he exhaled a harsh, ragged breath, his body slumping slightly as he digested the good news in disbelief; disbelief that the Gods, the very same Gods who’d humiliated and made a game out of his entire existence had, for some inexplicable reason, chosen to be lenient this time.     

Alive.

His Bulma was alive...

“She saw e-everything…” The assistant quietly clarified, fidgeting restlessly with his hands. “When we… When we heard the noise, sh-she run and she saw her…”

“What happened to her?”

“They s-sent her home for a… For a few days…” He stuttered. “Th-Those weaker races… Y-You know how it is… Th-They get attached to each other…”

He knew.

He knew it oh too well…

Vegeta knew just how strong the emotional bonds formed between certain beings from weaker races could be. He’d witnessed them himself, more often than he cared to admit, during his unceasing purging missions. The terrified faces of those deplorable creatures, pathetically clinging to each other, at times, even offering themselves, willing to sacrifice their own miserably insignificant lives if their beloved ones were spared instead. To a Saiyan warrior like him, such attachments were incomprehensible, a mere nuisance, a heavy burden that could only slow someone like him down. The only sentimental bond he’d ever believed in, somehow, was the Eternal Saiyan Bond he’d heard Nappa chronicle whenever the old man had shared his old tales with him. Even then, the concept itself was so amazingly foreign and outlandish to the Prince that he’d never even considered the possibility of being involved in such a union, especially taking into account that there were no more Saiyan females left in the Universe anyway.

And yet…

He conjured up the image of Bulma’s discovery of her best friend’s dead body, her shock and grief sickeningly real in his mind. He himself had recently experienced the loss of one of the last remaining members of his race and, despite the fact that he’d always treated Raditz as being inferior in status, he grudgingly had to admit that it’d been a significant loss indeed. Especially considering that Nappa’s skills in combat had been less than stellar lately, and whether the old man was slipping due to his age, or because he’d long ago lost some of his Saiyan fiery passion for battle, Vegeta lived with the haunting premonition that sooner or later he’d end up completely alone.

But he wasn’t alone today.

Not yet…

Before the irksome dwarf opened his irritating mouth again, he left the lab without a single word, taking flight as soon as he exited the building in the direction of his lover’s home, unable to elude the fearful thoughts of what he’d have to face when he was finally reunited with her.

 

*********************************************

  

He found Bulma on her small balcony, sitting on an old chair, her feet on top of the seat, slender arms wrapped around the long legs pressed against her chest. The night was falling, and she seemed to be trying to make the most of the few sunrays left before darkness would force her to retreat into her modest apartment.

She was the living image of melancholy, not even flinching when his dusty boots touched the ground and he stood impassively, arm-crossed, by her side. Reds, oranges and purples embellished her translucent skin as she kept staring at the horizon with the most heartbroken eyes he’d ever chanced upon. And yet, despite her painfully evident sorrow and those lightly swollen eyes, reddened from crying, there was a quiet dignity about her, a delicate gracefulness in the way she carried herself; in that swan-like neck, her back standing straight and those sad blue eyes which kept avoiding his, lithe fingers softly clutching the sleeves of the timeworn, pink sweatshirt that could barely conceal her natural elegance.

“You know…” Bulma finally whispered, a forlorn sigh escaping her lips. “My place has a door. Maybe you could use it sometime…”

Vegeta’s lips remained sealed, feeling entirely out of his element as his stormy eyes kept piercing the alluring woman with transparent curiosity.

There was something about her…

Something he couldn’t quite grasp, but which was driving him absolutely insane. Those brief moments when he’d thought her dead had ignited a sizzling spark within his soul, a scorching fire consuming him at the mere idea of losing her.

Loss.

Loss was something he’d endured only once in his lifetime, so many years ago that the grief itself had faded away by now, its harrowing fervor vanishing, seeping through his criminal fingers until all that remained was his own solitude. He liked it that way, because a man who owned nothing had nothing to lose, no pain, no heartache, no troubles. And this woman, this bewitching little creature was not his to lose.

She belonged to nothing and no one, just like him.

And yet, as ludicrous as it sounded, he’d started to think of her as his property, his own private piece of Heaven, a secluded, sacred place he could retreat into, seeking that reassuring, peaceful oblivion only she could bestow upon him. And that unfamiliar selfishness did nothing but grow and grow, like an overpowering, greedy monster, unforgivingly taking control of his already broken spirit.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…” Bulma confessed in a somber murmur. “I always knew it would happen eventually, I just…” She shrugged with gloomy dejection, shyly lowering her eyes. “I don’t know… I guess I wasn’t ready…”

Vegeta’s silence stretched awkwardly, his crossed arms tightening. He felt like a fool, like a useless, unworthy fool as the sheer agony in her voice punched him right in the gut. He wanted her to look at him, to set those marvelous blue eyes, the very same ones which had been haunting his darkest fantasies for days on end, on him.    

When she did, taking mercy on him at last, he suddenly wished she hadn’t.

She smiled at him...

A devastatingly warm, understanding smile, as if she knew just how incompetent a warrior like him, a man of deeds not of words, was feeling in that moment. And the fact that she was the one trying to make him feel better baffled him, making him feel even worse.

“Prince Vegeta with nothing to say…” Bulma joked sadly, pressing her cheek against her bare knee, never erasing that pained smile off her lovely face as she looked him right in the eye. “You’re not even going to say ‘I told you so’?’”

This time it was his turn to avoid her gaze, like the coward he really was, unable to withstand those tender, compassionate eyes. He turned his face to the side, deepening his fierce scowl in a foolish attempt at hiding his bewilderment. Night was taking over, those flaming sunset colors gradually morphing into the coldest of blues, losing their warm spark, the same bright spark his woman seemed to have lost since the death of her one and only friend.  

“I see…” The earthling sighed with quiet acceptance.

Bulma stood on her feet, stretching languidly as she took in a deep breath, calmly savoring the crisp air of the night. “I guess it’s time to get down to business, then…” She concluded with discomforting casualness, already leaving the warrior’s side without even granting him one final glance. “Just let me take a shower…” She whispered as she walked into her apartment.

She couldn’t get too far.

Before she knew it, Vegeta’s fuzzy tail had wrapped itself around her minute wrist, holding her firmly in place.

“What is it?” Bulma asked softly, turning to face him with eyes filled with curiosity.

Their eyes met for an instant, but her anguish kept plaguing him, unnerving him, making him fear all of a sudden that perhaps he shouldn’t have even showed up in her place to begin with.

“I could leave…” He muttered, the hesitation in his rough tone betraying his self-doubt as he shamefully fixated his tormented eyes on the floor.

The earthling observed the furry tail gently twined around her arm, her sad smile widening slightly at the sight of it. Her Saiyan lover hadn’t disclosed much about his past, his race or his culture. In fact, he’d barely talked at all, except for the teasing, dirty bed-talk they’d both grown to enjoy and indulge into during their times of passionate intimacy. But something told her, based on how tightly Vegeta kept his tail wrapped around his waist at all times in public, that this was a sign of intimacy, a rare gesture of affection he only displayed in private and which she’d quickly grown to love immensely.

Despite how deeply mysterious the man who shared her bed was, there were times when Bulma could read him like an open book. Tonight, this rare insecurity of his moved her, and her heart warmed up at the incredibly considerate way in which this fierce soldier was treating her. A man in his position could have forced himself on her a thousand and one times, and yet, she’d always known Vegeta would never make her do anything she didn’t truly wish to do.

“No…” Bulma pleaded in a whisper, stepping forward and allowing her fingertips to dotingly caress his hot cheek. “I don’t want you to leave… I just…” She let out a shaky breath as her hand travelled to his masculine jaw, lifting it, delicately compelling him to look her in the eye. “I just need a moment… Is that okay?”

Vegeta nodded wordlessly, finally gathering the courage to brave her wistful gaze, cursing the moment that dainty hand abandoned his skin as she turned around again and walked into the bathroom, leaving a sloppy path of clothes behind as she openly exposed her statuesque body to him. In the past, whenever she’d undressed in his presence, she’d done so with a lascivious hint of sensuality, her slender arms removing her garments with deliberate idleness as she’d wantonly swayed her hips for him, inflaming his very soul. But this time, there was an honest indifference in her actions, as if she actually didn’t care, leaving his presence looking like a beaten soldier who’d just been defeated in the most significant battle of her life.

He sat stiffly on Bulma’s slept-in bed, noticing that Launch’s cot was now nothing more than a bare mattress, and knowing how painful facing that lugubrious sight, day after day, must have been for her. He scanned the room tiredly as the faint sounds of the running water lulled him into an odd stage of trance, running his inquiring eyes over the scarce selection of books his lover kept piled up on top of her modest nightstand. Bulma had once confessed to him that she’d already read them all, and that she kept re-reading them over and over again simply because she often suffered from acute insomnia, and burying herself into her old human stories helped her fall asleep sometimes.

Vegeta run his hands glumly over his face and wild hair, his inner agitation rising by the second as the steam of the hot shower inundated the minuscule apartment. By his woman’s bed, he discovered a half-filled glass of what he quickly identified as the only alcoholic beverage Bulma ever drank on occasion. A bittersweet, purplish drink the female had sometimes compared to an Earth drink called ‘wine’. For a passing moment, the Saiyan feared that the woman would surrender to excess, but something told him that, in spite of her obvious sorrow, she was just too smart and too goddamned stubborn to succumb to self-destruction the same way her late friend had done in the past.

As minutes grew, so did his concern and, seeing that Bulma wasn’t coming back to him, he finally chose to take a look and see what the blazes was taking so long.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pitiful spectacle awaiting him.

There she was, standing in the middle of the small shower-plate, her back facing him as she pressed her brow against the tiled walls, her thin arms wrapped protectively around herself in the same way as when he’d first found her sitting on her balcony. She was trembling all over, soft, heart-wrenching sobs leaving her lips. He could tell she was trying to avoid being overheard by him, desperately struggling to conceal her grief in a vain attempt at keeping some of her pride intact.

He should leave.

He should leave right now.

It’d been a bad idea, a stupidly bad idea, to show up in her place knowing he’d find her in such a poor condition, and yet, even though every fiber of his being implored him to walk away before this woman would end him, in one way or another, Vegeta found himself unable to do it.

He couldn’t abandon her.

Not this way.

Vegeta’s fingers kept twitching, his brain pondering restlessly about what he could possibly say to make her feel better. A warrior like him had never handled such a nerve-racking situation. He’d never had to. He wasn’t one for dealing with survivors, except the ones from his own race. He was the killer, the one who made absolutely sure that not one single being made it out alive every time he was assigned one of his sordid purging missions. The Saiyan kept reminding himself that it was for the best, that death was infinitely better than life as a slave for a monster like Frieza, and that delusional thought was the one stopping him from losing his mind whenever times got rough and he was faced with the dishonor of the appalling acts he frequently perpetrated.

Perhaps he could yell at her, demanding her to be strong and to forget all about those pathetic, weak emotions she was so clearly submitting to. He could tell her that life, being alive, was the only thing that truly mattered in the end. And, maybe, just maybe, he could lie to her, letting her know that the angst of loss would someday disappear, despite having the positive conviction that loneliness was a dark, merciless ghost that would haunt them both for the rest of their lives.

But words failed him, as usual, and before he had the chance to overthink too much, Vegeta’s hands took over, quietly undressing him, hoping that his actions would bring her the comfort his words never would.

He paced slowly in her direction, joining her inside the hot shower, both lovers surrounded by a cocoon of warm steam as he brought his naked form closer to hers. Even though the Prince kept a safe distance between their bodies, Bulma’s shivers ceased almost instantly at the sheer heat that radiated off him, that superhuman, animalistic heat she knew so well by now. Her breath hitched in her throat, deeply ashamed of her vulnerability, terrified about her lover mocking or scolding her for it.

But he did neither…

No disdainful words were pronounced by his sharp tongue. Instead, Bulma felt his large, roughed hands on her skin, his thick fingers caressing her arms, up and down, in a tenderly soothing motion. 

At first, she tried to fight that inner battle, the never-ending battle between heart and reason, instinct and intellect, which she’d always been such a slave for. There was no logical explanation behind her lover’s strangely affectionate actions and, for once, she didn’t even care. The only thing she really wanted was to forget, to escape far away from her hellish reality, losing herself in the calming touch of her dark Prince.

Vegeta’s hands kept working their magic, exploring Bulma’s petite, still lightly trembling body. Her struggles made her look so small and frail, yet so warm and inviting, that he wanted nothing more than to both protect and bury himself inside of her forever. A new sense of pride overcame him as he felt her relax, slowly surrendering to his doting ministrations. He run his calloused palms across her pale, silky back, her skin so soft and delicate that he sometimes feared his mere touch would mar it. But the way her breathing gradually slowed down, silently telling him that she liked, that she loved the forbidden things those evil hands did to her, kept him going.

His loving, unrelenting touch now reached his favorite part of her anatomy, that maddeningly feminine curve on her narrow waist. So womanly, so unlike any other female he’d ever laid his hands on, that at times he wondered whether this woman, this little earthling that fit against his muscular body as if she’d been specifically designed just for him, was even real or just a figment of his shattered imagination. But his fingertips told him she was real, here, with him, so deliciously ticklish that her skin broke into delightful goosebumps in response to his tainted touch.

And then it happened…

A quivery sigh escaped her lips and she threw her head back, succumbing at last, exposing her sumptuous, creamy throat to him as she leant against his solid chest, accommodating the nape of her neck on the curve of his shoulder. Bulma closed her exhausted eyes, the salty scent of her tears blending with the unmistakable aroma of the arousal he was stealing from her. Vegeta’s luxurious tail hugged her waist as one of his arms embraced her shoulders and his other hand wrapped itself around her throat. He traced the shell of her ear with his famished tongue, wolfish teeth carefully scraping her appetizing earlobe, making her moan and shiver in delight.

‘It would be so easy…’ He thought evilly to himself.

It would be so goddamned easy to break her little neck, snapping it in half and ending her suffering. If he had a heart, if he had any decent, merciful bone in the flawless killing machine that was his body, he’d make good use of his deadly skills and put an end to her misery in the blink of an eye, as coolly and painlessly as possible.

But he wouldn’t.

He’d never, ever, get rid of her, because he was a greedy bastard from Hell and he wanted her all to himself; eager, longing, impatiently waiting for him to come back to her whenever he left her side. It was insane, utterly irrational, and the worst part was that he knew it, just as he knew how extremely dangerous this taboo game he was playing with her could be for the both of them in the end. But, then again, nothing about the vile madness which had been his life had ever made any sense. After all, a life without danger wasn’t a life worth living.     

Vegeta felt her pulse accelerating, furiously rabbiting underneath his touch. Her life, wild and glorious, held, literally, in the palm of his hand. Bulma’s mouth opened, gasping for air the minute he pressed his half-hardened cock against the round flesh of her bottom. She tormented him in return, rubbing herself against his erection as he grunted urgently, sinking his sharp teeth on her shoulder.

She’d be the death of him, she had to be...

The way her dainty hands covered his massive ones, boldly guiding them towards her breasts, encouraging him with indecent wantonness to have his way with her. And he gladly indulged her, manly hands cupping her soft mounds of flesh, exploring, caressing, fondling them, luxuriating in her exotic warmth. His thumbs grazed her nipples, the rosy nubs hardening at his feathery touch as she kept her hands atop of his, as if she were wickedly touching herself through his own fingers.

Her sorrow faded away little by little and, when she finally looked at him again, the sad, sensual need within those oceanic eyes made his hands freeze in the spot.

“Don’t stop…” She pleaded in a desperate whisper, her hands reaching for him. She pulled him closer, petting his face and shutting her eyes, hungrily nuzzling his flushed cheek as she raised her other arm behind her, holding him and burying her hand in his hair. “Please don’t stop…”

She was begging.

Begging for him to take the pain away…

Vegeta captured her lips with his own, drinking in her sobs of bliss as his hands kneaded her breasts with more fervor, playfully tweaking her nipples in a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. Her breathless mouth left his, raining light kisses all over his jaw, her eyes closed, completely lost in the moment as he glanced hungrily at her.

She was so painstakingly beautiful. Porcelain skin now turned into a mouthwatering flushed pink from the heat, droplets of hot water cascading all over, tracing the contours of her carnal body while she devoured him, thirstily kissing and licking his caramel skin. 

“Vegeta… Please...” She whispered pitifully, her back arching under his heated touch, wriggling, twisting, rubbing herself against him in aching need.

“Please what, Bulma?” He asked hoarsely, an honest question lacking the playful tone he usually teased her with whenever he knew just how much she wanted him.

“P-Please…” Bulma whimpered again.

Vegeta licked her bottom lip, nipping it softly and piercing her with starved eyes and a raw intensity that made her knees weak with desire.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you…” He demanded in a fierce whisper, his sinful voice arousing her even more.

“I… I want you…” She begged impatiently, her fingers clutching a fistful of his hair, sending a rush of heat right into his excruciatingly hard cock. “I want you inside of me…”

The Prince kissed her again, savoring her sweetness as his hardened hands reluctantly abandoned her lavish breasts. His tail tightened even more possessively around her waist and he bent over slightly, gently encouraging his frail lover to do the same, relishing the way she moved underneath him, meshing her body beneath his own as if they were one.

He stretched his arm, firmly placing one hand on the damp tiles, looking for balance. Instinctively, Bulma did the same, her hand on top of his.

‘They were both so different…’ A wild thought hit him abruptly at the sight of her luminous hand, so tiny and delicate on top his scarred, bronzed one.

They were so incredibly different from each other that Vegeta couldn’t help but dread the day life would inevitably take her away from him, once and for all.

But today, she was all his.

And today was all that mattered…

Bulma’s short nails dug into his open hand while Vegeta’s mouth kissed and nibbled the sleek nape of her neck after she lowered her head submissively, gracefully offering herself to him as she rubbed her sex against him, allowing him to do as he pleased with her. He grunted ardently, her docile compliance feeling like the last straw, the final push he needed to take the next step that would finally bring them both release.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, teasingly caressing her smooth, rosy labia with its swollen tip. Her breathing accelerated as she raised her hips for him in silent plea, her entrance soaking wet already, tempting him, teasing him, driving him crazy with want. He’d sought to take his time with her, to fuck her slowly, delectably slowly, just as he’d done the very first time he’d taken her, but his body had other plans for him, and instinct took over when he sank into her, burying himself to the hilt deep inside of her.

“Kami!” She cried breathlessly, tightening around him immediately as she struggled to get used to the delicious pain of his immense girth.

Vegeta’s teeth clenched agonizingly, holding still for an instant, a dominant hand grasping her hip as he waited for her to take all of him. His tongue traced a slow, soothing path across her shoulders, savoring her lust and the incredible way in which she quivered underneath him. After a few moments of unbearable wait, her hips started moving leisurely against him in silent encouragement, asking him to continue, to give her what she so desperately needed.

He happily complied, tightening his hold on her and thrusting gently into her tight depths, in and out, slowly at first and, before long, increasing his pace as Bulma’s excitement grew, moving faster, begging for more as she slammed her soft bottom against him. Hot water kept pouring over their heated bodies, wet noises intermingling with the indecent sounds of their flesh touching, smashing against each other in a frenzy that grew and grew without control.

“Oh Gods… Oh… Oh Gods…!” Bulma cried, her hand squeezing the one angrily grabbing her hip. “R-Right there… Kami! Right there!”      

Her feverish words made Vegeta’s cock twitch, realizing he wouldn’t last long and, judging by the heavy sobs leaving her mouth, neither would she.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asked in a low, ragged whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

He kept fucking her, his rhythm faster and more passionate, literally taking her breath away. And all Bulma could do was assent silently, pitifully, her eyes squeezed shut as she reveled in the possessive, yet intimate way in which he was taking her.

“Good…” Vegeta replied, his husky tone laced in satisfaction, the satisfaction of seeing this gorgeous creature unraveling, surrendering to his filthy touch. “I want you to do something for me…” He demanded hoarsely, panting loudly in her ear as his cock kept slamming into her, never ceasing his punishing pace. “Will you do something for me, Bulma?”

The way he pronounced her name, almost caressing it with his lecherous tongue, ignited the flame already consuming her even further, making her nod breathlessly again.

“I want you to touch yourself…” Vegeta ordered, forcing a loud hiss out of her as he bit her earlobe. “Can you do that for me, Bulma?”

She didn’t even question him, her hungry, trembling hand abandoning the one now almost bruising her hip, reaching the swollen, deprived center of pleasure between her legs and stroking it with desperate need.

“Good girl…” Vegeta whispered approvingly. “You’re a good girl, Bulma...”

She wanted to hate him…

Oh, how she wanted to hate the bloody bastard for his blasted arrogance, for teasing her, for seducing her, for controlling her in a way he only knew how. But he felt so goddamned good she didn’t have any strength left in her. She needed him inside of her, plunging into her, stretching her like nothing and no one before and whispering those domineering, indecent words to her ear, gladly sinking her to his depraved level.

“I want you to cum for me…” Vegeta commanded, her tightness around him increasing dangerously, temptingly inviting him to join her, to spill himself inside of that irresistible body. “And I want you to tell me when you do…”

She whimpered, unbearable heat pooling within her as desire overwhelmed her, anxious fingers chasing, urgently chasing that explosion of pleasure as he rammed wildly in and out of her.  

“I… I…” She stuttered, gasping for air, getting closer and closer…

“Are you cumming for me, Bulma?” He whispered harshly, wrestling to keep whatever sense of reason he had left in his dazed mind.         

“Oh…! G-Gods! Yes… Yes!”

“Then tell me, woman…” He ordered, his hot breath on her neck, voracious teeth grazing her wet skin.

“I’m c… I’m cumming…! I…!” A hoarse cry escaped her throat as climax viciously hit her, her fingertips rubbing her clit, riding that heavenly, explosive wave for as long as she could.

In the back of her faint mind she could barely distinguish his wild noises, the triumphant roar erupting from his chest as his hand left her hip and enveloped her trembling waist before her legs gave up on her and she fell to the ground. She mewled helplessly as he kept fucking her through her orgasm, like putty in his hands, feeling him grow, swell inside her pussy as he thrusted uncontrollably, crashing his hips against hers until his last spark of self-control vanished and he finally let go, shooting his hot, thick cum inside her tight little body.

 

He was being punished.

He had to be…

The way she felt in his arms, growing limp in his embrace and welcoming his touch with such naive gratitude. It had to be a punishment, a terrible, grueling punishment for all the worlds exterminated and all the lives ended without a single hint of remorse.

He was a monster, a raging, despicable monster destined to spend an Eternity in the Underworld…

And now, it was payback time. Only this time, this time, retribution had chosen the diabolical shape of a small, fragile creature who was making him act and feel like some pathetic, sentimental fool.    

Vegeta pulled her even closer, holding her against him as she gradually recovered from her all-consuming climax. It was the strangest sensation, his powerful chest pressed tightly against her back, feeling, not only her heart beating strongly in unison with his, but also a rare energy, as if he could sense her spirit interlacing with his own. He’d heard stories of foreign races with the ability to sense and read each other’s ki, and he’d always dismissed such rumors as mere idiotic fantasies, and yet, he could almost feel Bulma’s life essence flowing right through him.        

Once she recuperated, she carefully helped him pull out of her warmth and she turned around, still trapped in his fierce embrace, finally facing him. The Prince took in all of her beauty, from those glossy full lips to the lovely way in which her slick hair framed her flawless features. With infuriating despair, he noticed that, as the remnants of her pleasure slowly dissipated, sadness owned her once more, dimming the light in those ethereal blue eyes that kept staring at him with girlish enthrallment.  

“May I?” Bulma asked in a shy whisper, reaching for a bar of soap and holding it in front of him in silent offer.

Bathe him.

The Holy Gods of War be damned, she wanted to bathe him…

The Prince nodded wordlessly, stunned by such an intimate proposal, and he let go of her, standing still and watching her in quiet fascination as she deftly rubbed the small object, lathering up her hands. He could hear the aching, distant echoes of his Mother’s nurturing voice, the only other woman who’d ever done this for him, singing and sharing her old Saiyan stories as she cared for him.

Bulma’s tender hands kept touching him, delicately smoothing soap bubbles all over his robust frame, tracing every hard-carved muscle, every battle-worn scar and imperfection, even his oversensitive tail, making Vegeta involuntarily shiver in enjoyment. After she was done with his body, she gently encouraged him to throw his head back and let her wash his hair. He had absolutely no idea what it was that came out of the little bottle she’d been holding, but its mild herbal scent and those long, skillful fingers massaging his scalp and detangling his black, wild mane made him feel like he’d just died and gone straight into Heaven. Once she was done, Bulma assisted him in rinsing off, her eyes widening lightly in surprise when Vegeta turned around and took the bar of soap in his hands, proceeding to do for her what she’d just done for him.   

It was utterly disturbing the way he felt, so clumsy, so inept, fearing his disfigured hands would feel too coarse on her silken skin as he bathed her. But Bulma kept smiling at him, that sad smile that disconcerted him so, making him avoid her compassionate gaze and focus on her soft body, cleansing and caressing it, exploring it in a way he never had before with any other woman. Vegeta didn’t know why, but he wanted to do this right, to make her feel just as good as she’d made him feel, and he allowed himself a tiny smirk of contentment when she closed her eyes and sighed peacefully, the sensation of his thick fingers running through her turquoise tresses bringing a blissful smile to her face.  

They finished their shower, and Bulma handled him one of her large, worn out towels, picking one for herself as well. Both lovers towel-dried quietly, sharing a long, oddly comfortable silence until the beautiful earthling offered him her hand, which he took without hesitation, cautiously lacing his fingers with hers as she guided him into the bedroom and towards her narrow bed.

Bulma lay on her side and he did the same, imitating her actions and facing her. She kept looking at him, her eyes glowing brightly in the dark, vaguely illuminated by the moonlight sneaking in through her small balcony. For countless minutes, they simply stared at each other, both drowning in confusion, realizing something was arising between them, something new and terrifying, something neither one of them had anticipated when they’d first chanced into each other’s life.

“I…” Bulma whispered timidly, a shaky voice so low even his sharp Saiyan senses had trouble hearing it. “I have to go back to work tomorrow…”

Vegeta squinted imperceptibly, that daunting sense of incompetence coming back in full force as he saw the aching sorrow written all over her. His hand reached out to her, tentatively brushing a rebellious lock of hair off her pretty face, his fingertips languidly drawing the contours of her pale cheek, cupping it with surprising tenderness.

The intimate gesture broke her at last, and the Prince witnessed in silent horror the way Bulma’s lower lip began trembling, burning, salty tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her face, now painfully etched in grief.

Finally swallowing her pride, the brave little woman got even closer to him, curling up against his broad chest and breaking into soft, quiet sobs, shuddering and hugging him shyly. Vegeta tensed up immediately, never having found himself in such a foreign situation. But soon, a rare, protective instinct took over, and he gingerly wrapped his arms around her, inwardly relieved when her arms tightened around him as well, letting him know that he’d done the right thing.

He closed his eyes and brought her closer, knowing, not only that there was nothing he could do or say that would ever ease her suffering, but that there was no rational reason why he’d ever even want to do such a thing.

 

She was just a fuck. Nothing more.

But this once, just this once, he could pretend. He could lie to her and to himself and pretend that he cared, and that his hands, those deadly, blood-soaked hands forged by years and years of warship and chaos, also held the mysterious power to comfort the devastated woman crying herself to sleep in his arms.