Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ One Kiss, A Thousand Deaths ( Chapter 11 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ

Tempest holds a pink fluff ball, a lime and a lemon in her hands. She looks down at the chapter and back at the objects. With a shrug, she tosses the fluff ball over her shoulder. She holds the lime and lemon in her hands, weighing them evenly. She looks up at the audience, her mouth opening to speak. She pauses and nothing comes out. She looks back down at the fruit, finally dropping them on the ground, watching morosely as they roll away.

"Fuck it. I have no idea."

Chapter Eleven

One kiss, a thousand deaths

Bulma retreated to her room, choking back the tears. She shed her ragged clothes as she walked through her living quarters on her way to the bathroom. She reached the shower and turned on the water, barely waiting for it to heat up before she stepped inside. As the water cascaded down over her shoulders, the tears that she could no longer hold back poured from her eyes. The salty liquid mingled with the water as it was washed down the drain as though it never existed.

She tried to empty her mind, like she emptied her body of her sorrow with every sob. She tried to wash away all of the pain and anger that she felt inside that had nothing to do with the physical bruising of her body. She tried to erase the memory of that man's hands on her body, his obscene eyes that reflected her horror back at her. She tried but she failed. It was too fresh and much too hurtful. How could he? She didn't think she could hate Vegeta any more than at this moment.

She scrubbed her body until she was pink all over. She took special care to thoroughly clean the slash on her side, wary of getting an infection from the man's filthy claw. She winced as she patted it with a wash rag, determinedly ignoring the slow flow of blood that washed down the drain along with her tears. She felt the burn of razor blades again as water sluiced down her back and she bit her lip to stifle a cry. She twisted her head to the side, but she couldn't see over her shoulder.

She stepped out and dried herself carefully, her entire body aching from her rough handling. She opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the iodine and bandages she had stored in there from tending to the cut on her temple. She awkwardly smeared the brown medicine on her side, frustrated that she couldn't see clearly over her breast. She looked down at the item she had brought with her from the medical bay as she had entered the ship. It was a staple gun for suturing.

She sucked in her lower lip between her teeth and picked up the nasty looking implement, pushing all thoughts about stapling office documents from her mind. She angled her body so she could watch herself in the mirror as she used one hand to pinch the ragged edges of her wound together and wield the gun at the same time. She heard the metallic click of the jaws snapping together before she felt the sharp sting of the staple piercing her already abused flesh. She grunted in the back of her throat and bit down on her lip until she was sure she was going to draw blood. She inhaled deeply through her nose and furrowed her brow. Bravely, she repeated the painful process until her wound was closed properly and she had taped a bandage to her side.

Every time she stretched her muscles to see her wound in the mirror she could feel a throbbing burn in her back, just below her shoulder blade. She rooted around in the drawers until she found a hand held mirror that she could use to see the reflection of her back. She gasped when she saw a ring of seeping punctures marks, marring the white plane of her back. The little fuck shit had bit her! She tried to clean it, but no matter how much she twisted and turned she could not reach the wound. She finally settled on pouring iodine over her shoulder and down her back so it ran into the small holes.

When she was done she peered at her reflection. She had a cut on her temple, a split lip, a jagged wound on her side and a bite mark. She looked like a brawler. She was starting to get fed up with people hitting her. Who did they think they were anyways? Just because someone was weaker than them didn't mean they could go around bashing them. Bastards. In all of her years traveling with Goku she had never been this hurt. In fact she had always been safe.

Bulma felt a wave of homesickness wash over her and she stumbled towards her bed. She crawled under the covers, pulling the blankets up over her head and blocking out any light. She curled up into a tight ball and cried herself to sleep.

*~*

Vegeta stood over the sleeping woman, his black eyes flashing in the shadows. She was sprawled out on her back, her arms flung wide, completely oblivious to everything around her while she slept soundly. She had one long leg exposed and her pale skin shined brightly in the darkness. The blanket crept up between her thighs covering the prize that he truly coveted, but fortunately it left her entire leg, hip and most of her side bare. He noticed with no small amount of disappointment that her breasts were covered as well, but what drew his gaze was the bandage that was taped to her side.

His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the strip of white cloth, blooms of red decorating it. She must have been wounded during her struggle with the trader. His cold eyes roved over her face, noting her swollen lip and nearly healed cut on her temple. It would scar he observed and he felt something flutter inside of him.

She looked so fragile while she slept. The hate in her eyes was absent and her shrewish tongue was muted. She was the type of creature that inspired men to war, to fight to honor, protect and cherish her. To own her. Perhaps he was wrong to introduce her to the horrors of the universe. It would spoil her innocent beauty, taint her purity. Maybe that was what made her so irresistible, the fact that she knew no evil until he darkened her door.

She stirred in her sleep and her eyes fluttered open. Her wide eyes showed no wariness until they locked onto his shadowy form. As she recognized him, the fear and hate rose quickly to the surface and Vegeta felt an answering bitterness seethe inside of him. She gathered the blankets tightly to her chest, drawing her leg under the covers with her. She slowly and deliberately curled her body into a low crouch up against the head board, as if quick movements would spur him into attacking her.

He sneered in disgust at her and threw a bundle of clothes on the foot of her bed. He then tossed a rounded fruit to her, which she caught deftly. Its tempting aroma drifted to her nose and without a second thought she bit into the fruit hungrily. Its sweet juice burst into her mouth and she closed her eyes, moaning with pleasure. Vegeta felt his gut tighten at the sound and he tamped down the surge of desire.

"Get dressed and meet me in the galley." He barked, disrupting her meal. He turned on his heel and strode from the room without looking back. As he exited, Bulma couldn't stop herself from sticking her tongue out at his retreating back.

She quickly finished the fruit, licking her fingers to catch every last drop. Her stomach rumbled demandingly and she hopped out of bed. She turned on the light and sorted through the pile of clothing Vegeta had thrown on the bed. He had brought her two pairs of pants and two tops that were identical and no undergarments. She snorted in derision. Vegeta was obviously not a male who knew how to shop.

She shook out the pants and examined them with dismay. They were black, leather, low riders. The top was also black leather that was fashioned like a fitted bodice with corset strays in the back and small hooks up the front. It was definitely tight enough to work as a bra, since hers was ruined, but it was not her usual style of dress.

She slipped the pants over her bare hips, ignoring her only pair of soiled panties on the ground. She wrestled herself into the bodice, frowning as she buttoned up the front. She looked herself over in the mirror and rolled her eyes.

"I think I have seen this TV show." She muttered to herself. Strap a gun to her hip and tattoo some barb wire around her upper arm and she would be good to go. She shoved her breasts into place, noticing with a smirk that they looked bigger. The top forced her shoulders back, holding her ribs in place and improved her posture. There was no way that she was going to be able to slouch like she normally did and still breathe.

She pulled on a pair of sturdy, black boots that Vegeta had provided her, to complete the ensemble. What the hell? Did Vegeta think she was some sort of biker bitch? Black leather was nice and all, if you wanted to go out and play bad girl for the night with your boyfriend, but this was just ridicules. Plus, without any underwear she was going to chaff in these pants. Leather just doesn't breathe. She raked her fingers through her sleep tangled hair, taming it briefly, before she noticed a brush sitting on the bed as well.

She sunk down on the edge of the bed, eying the brush warily before picking it up. Vegeta getting her clothes she could understand. After all, she couldn't go around in the rags she was wearing, but she had never imagined that he would think to buy her something as frivolous as a comb. She cocked her head to the side, running her thumb along the bristles. He had obviously thought about it, which meant he had thought about her in some small way. She smiled brightly, clutching it to her chest, inanely pleased for some reason. He couldn't have made her happier if he had brought back chocolate fudge ice cream. Well, maybe that was going a little too far, but she was defiantly ecstatic.

She rushed over to the mirror, patiently pulling the comb through her tangled hair, gently working out the knots that had gnarled her hair for the last several days. She winced a couple of times as the muscles pulled the bite wound on her upper back, but she didn't stop until her hair finally flowed smoothly over her shoulders. She did one last twirl in front of the mirror and ran out of the room. Her stomach was furiously demanding more food.

Bulma rushed into the galley, her bright eyes raking over the boxes of food that were piled up against the walls. Vegeta turned away from the pantry he was stocking to watch her bounce across the room and up to the bar. His gaze was drawn to her up thrust breasts and her tightly nipped waist. He hooded his eyes before she noticed his perusal and turned his body subtly away, but cocked his head to the side so he could observe her. She instantly began to rifle through the boxes and quickly found the store of fruit that he had given her earlier. She happily crunched away while she settled herself into a chair, flashing him a pleased smile. Vegeta was momentarily dumbstruck. Why was she so happy all the sudden? She reached for another piece of fruit and Vegeta growled.

"Don't eat so quickly or you will be sick, idiot." Bulma's face fell, but she dropped the fruit and sat back in her chair. After being without food for so long she would have to pace herself or she else her stomach would rebel violently.

"Looks like you got plenty of food." Bulma chirped and Vegeta ignored her.

"Did you get water too?" He nodded subtly and Bulma smiled.

"Thanks for the clothes and brush Vegeta." He glared at her from the corner of his eye, but he didn't respond. "Although, these aren't exactly what I would pick out for myself. I mean black leather." She plucked at the bodice, winging a finely arched brow at him and a tiny smile bloomed at the corner of her bruised lips. "Is there something you're not telling me Vegeta?"

He paused in the middle of placing a box on a high shelf. He felt his lower back tighten and tingle at her words. Was she actually teasing him? Him, the mad dog killer of the universe?

He dropped his hand and looked back at her, his face completely void of his confusion. "It was either that or whore's garb. Choices were limited, woman." His words were clipped and even. He didn't expend the extra energy required for a lengthy explanation, just enough to convey his purpose. Quick and efficient, just like him. He turned to another box, pulling out more dried goods.

"Oh." She thought about what she had seen the women wearing on the planet and she decided instantly that she preferred the clothes that he had picked out. At least she was decently covered. As an additional bonus, she did kind of look like a badass and the first step to being something is looking like it. She could already feel a cocky shift in her attitude.

You didn't get me any undergarments though." Bulma wiggled uncomfortably at the thought that she wasn't wearing any panties right now. It was a strange sensation, like she was doing something bad.

"There were none." He muttered while he sorted through the food.

She frowned at him while eying the fruit in the box. Everything that Vegeta was handling was unfamiliar to her. She couldn't even read the alien writing on the side of the boxes. She wondered how she could remedy that. Somehow she didn't think that were any Japanese to alien primers floating around in the universe somewhere. She knew for certain that she could eat the fruit as it was, but everything else was completely foreign to her.

"They were out of panties?" Her voice dripped with disbelief as her fingers walked their way across the counter towards the box with the fruit.

Vegeta turned towards her, moving the box out of her reach as he leaned on the counter to look her in the eye.

"Just because your pathetic, backwards race wears undergarments, does not mean everyone else in the universe does."

She paused, half leaned over the counter, her mouth wide open at his words. "Oh." Was the only thing she could think to say.

Vegeta rolled his eyes and pushed another box towards her. "Here, put this food away and then cook us something to eat, woman."

Bulma sat back and frowned at the Saiyan in front of her. "I'll put the food away, but I'm not cooking anything. I don't even know what half that shit is."

Vegeta glowered back at her. "Figure it out."

"I can't 'figure it out'. I don't even have a cook book. Not that I could read it." She muttered to herself.

"You're the woman, so you had better figure it out, cause I want dinner in a half an hour." Vegeta stomped around the counter and towards the door.

"Listen here you chauvinist baboon. Just because I'm a woman, that does not mean I know how to cook. I am the richest woman in the world. I have three four star cooks that prepare food just for me and one world famous dessert chef. I have never even made toast for myself." She preened. "So if you want dinner in a half an hour, I suggest you cook it."

Vegeta stopped in the middle of the room and slowly turned to face her. His blank features sent a chill down her spine and she swallowed hard. He stalked up to her, pinning her up against the counter. His dark eyes flashed murderously and she was instantaneously reminded that she wasn't some super chick from TV, but a mousy scientist who didn't have the strength of a gnat.

"You will have dinner fixed by the time I get back or I just might remember that you kept me caged in a tiny cell for months. I don't think you would like it if I locked you in the dark utility closet and only let you out to change course, now would you?"

Dear Kami, no. She couldn't imagine being locked in a tight space, in the dark no less. She would go insane. The walls would close in on her. She would die from…Her eyes locked with his and she saw the darkness that resided there. Oh. She had done that to him. She had locked him up and thrown away the key and he had yet to punish her. Key word… yet. Instead, he got her clothes, food and a brush.

Bulma gulped and shook her head. "Good, now get on it woman." He spun away from her and sauntered out the room, leaving Bulma red faced. She slowly turned and eyed the kitchen, panic gurgling in her stomach.

*~*

A half an hour later the doors slid open to the galley, revealing a disaster zone. Food was dripping off the ceiling and down the cabinets. A red powder was dusted over everything in a thin film and black smoke drifted through the room. A goopy goo was boiling over on the stove, the white mush spilling over the rim of the pot and onto the surface. The remnants of burnt food littered the counters, intermingled with dirty bowls and empty containers.

Bulma stood in the center of the holocaust, a creamy substance matted in her hair and powder smudges on her cheeks and chin. She met Vegeta's gaze defiantly, but her bravado quickly disappeared under his unwavering gaze.

"I tried Vegeta, but it's impossible." She wailed forlornly, the beginning of self pitying tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The stress of the last few days, hell the last few months weighed down on her. Normally, she would have viewed this as a challenge, but she wasn't in the right frame of mind right now to accomplish the task set before her. She didn't want to be locked in the utility closet.

Vegeta made his way slowly towards her and Bulma began to wail louder. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, her shoulders drooping dejectedly. He stopped in front of her, desperately trying to prevent his lips from twitching when he saw something inedible drip off her head and onto her shoulder. He grasped her by the waist and sat her up on the counter by the sink, grabbing a damp rag.

"Quit that caterwauling woman."

As soon as she felt the burning heat of his hands on her hips, the sobs that were forming in her throat died a nasty, premature death, along with her voice. She sat stock still on the counter, suddenly very uncertain of what was going to happen.

When he turned back to her, he almost couldn't contain his laughter. She had her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her knees locked together and her big, watery, blue eyes watched him warily. She was obviously terrified of his next move.

Time to fuck with her.

He schooled his face into an implacable mask, allowing his eyes to darken into unreadable shadows. He could smell her fear as her adrenaline spiked and sweat beaded on her upper lip.

He lifted his hand, snickering silently as she flinched away. With uncharacteristic gentleness he ran the damp cloth over her cheek and down to her chin. Slowly and meticulously he cleaned the food from her face, edging closer to her with every swipe of the cloth, until he was leaning against her knees.

Her eyes locked with his and her pink lips parted as she tried to suck in some of the seemingly non-existent oxygen in the room into her lungs. She felt like she was drowning in sensation, she wanted to struggle, but her body was lazily compliant to his demands. Almost without realizing it, her knees parted so he could slide between her legs to stand nearer to her.

Vegeta took advantage of the lax parting of her thighs immediately, almost sighing with relief at the feeling of homecoming. He could smell the subtle changes in her body that herald the lessoning of her fear and the heightening of her arousal. As the delicious scent permeated the air, he felt his groin stir to life, surprising him with the force of need that roared inside of him. All he wanted was to get closer her, to cover her body with his.

She felt overwhelmed by his very presence. His masculine scent invaded her senses, filling her mouth and nose, seeping into her pores. He shifted closer and she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact with him, physically unable to look away from him. The cloth cooled her skin, only to have it burn under the incredible rush of heat that raced to the surface as the rag trailed away. Treacherous liquid fire flared in her veins and pooled in her belly, distracting her from her fear. She could feel warmth radiating off him, especially were his hips bumped against the edge of the counter only a hairsbreadth away from the apex of her thighs.

Vegeta wanted to growl when the hard edge of the counter blocked his advance. He was so close to nestling himself in her dripping heat. He could smell it, he could taste it in the air, but he couldn't feel it. His hand tightened over the rag, ignoring the whispers that compelled him to wrap his arms around her and drag her up against him.

He slipped the cloth off her face and down to her shoulder, trailing the cool dampness over her hot flesh. She swallowed loudly, realizing that for the first time they were touching without some sort of coercion. He wasn't trying to kill her or drag her to her death and she wasn't hanging off his arm in fear of being stolen away.

He had her propped up on the counter, washing her as though he was her lover and she was his cherished mate. What was he doing? What was she doing? What the fu…

"What are you doing?" The words came out harsher than she intended, unedited by the public relations portion of her brain.

He finally allowed an expression to form on his strong features, but that did nothing to reassure her. The corner of his mouth curled up as he tilted his head to the side. His dark eyes came alive with such a riot of intense emotion that Bulma forgot to breathe for nearly thirty seconds. Desire, lust and need flowed from him and struck her hard, waking an answering yearning deep inside of her.

"Isn't it obvious, Bitchess?" His low, raspy voice sent chills over her damp skin and goose bumps prickled her. Every time he said that word, something strummed inside of her, sending tiny vibrations throughout her body. He always said it like it was the sweetest endearment, his voice pitched deep and sexy.

"Umm, not really." She noticed her voice seemed smaller, less demanding, less shrill. Her brows drew together, forming small lines between her eyes. She didn't like how this was going.

Her confusion amused him. For just a moment he was able to forget everything that had ever gone wrong in his life and he focused solely on her, from the subtlest nuance of her expression to the frantic beating of her heart. His world narrowed in on her and the emotions that he was able to evoke in her.

His seductive grin turned into a full fledged smirk as he held up the rag in front of her. "I'm washing you." Bulma had a sudden and intense vision of them in a marbled bath, candles floating in steamy, soapy water that rippled with their torrid lovemaking.

"I uhh." Bulma started, but she had to stop herself and clear her throat. "Why?" Her frown lines deepened as she noted the husky note her voice had taken on. What the hell?

He tossed the rag into the sink and Bulma felt her stomach try to press into her spine as she eyed his now empty hands. With purposeful ease he placed his palms flat on the counter on either side of her hips, forcing him to bend down closer to her. She leaned back and her head knocked loudly against the cupboard that was directly behind her. She saw the flash of his white teeth under the curl of his lip and she had to remind her self to take a deep, steadying breath.

"Because you like it." His growling, commanding voice wound around her, seducing her with heated octaves and wicked desires. It took a few seconds before the words themselves sunk in. Her eyes flared with indignation and her own lips curled back from her teeth, not in an inviting grin, but in a vicious snarl.

"I do not!" She declared hotly, while desperately ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that called her a blatant liar.

In the past Vegeta had treated her to half smiles and cruel smirks. He had even leered with vindictiveness, but never had she seen him grin at her with such inviting, sensual promise.

Her mouth popped open to an almost perfect circle while her wide eyes watched him with a blend of stunned horror and awed fascination. He leaned in closer, bending his knees so he slid down her body, his nostrils flaring wide. He stopped when his face was directly between her spread thighs, his aristocratic nose less than an inch from her crotch. His palms were still flat on the counter top and his bulging biceps pinned her shins to the counter, forcing her to remain still.

He inhaled deeply, his thick tongue pushing out from between his full lips to wet them, before retreating with reluctance, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth with it. He caught it in his teeth, releasing it slowly and pressing them together as a growling purr found its way to her ears. As his tongue appeared she felt an insistent tugging in her core, like a string was attached from the tip of her clit to his tongue. She fought the urge to buck towards him and her entire body felt overwhelming loss as his tongue disappeared behind his lips.

Vegeta allowed her scent to fill his lungs, to wind its way around his brain and imprint itself permanently there. He enjoyed the scent of her fear, but her arousal was far more intoxicating. He found himself desiring more, needing to taste it. He licked his lips, imagining pressing his tongue against her folds and sliding it languidly over her swollen flesh. He saw the muscles of her inner thighs quiver and his cock became impossibly hard. He wanted to smell her, taste her, he wanted to take her and mark her as his.

He raised his eyes, his overheated gaze locking with hers and nearly ravishing her soul. Very slowly, he unwound his body, never breaking their gaze. Dimly, behind the rush of blood in her ears, she could hear the brush of fabric as he stood, his irresistible mouth only a breath away from hers. She swallowed hard. All she had to do would be to purse her lips as they would be touching, the wildfire that she saw raging in his eyes would leap over to her and devour her alive. Most importantly that beautiful tongue would be inside of her.

He prepared to speak, inhaling the breath she had just exhaled, his lips parting slightly. She felt rigid expectation tighten her muscles and she waited with bated breath to hear what he would have to say.

"It smells like you like it to me." He removed one large palm from the counter, laying it on the top of her thigh. All at once she was threatened and aroused, unable to do anything but blink at him.

"I bet if I slipped my fingers into you right now, you would be tight, wet and hot." His tone dripped with confidence, surety in her lust evident in every lewd word. Bulma's nipples hardened into thrusting crowns, aching with the need to be touched. She wanted to shake her head no, but any movement would bring her perilously close to his dangerous mouth. She pressed herself further into the unyielding wall behind her, unable to escape his unrelenting pursuit.

She parted her lips, afraid to even purse them and allowed a haunting whisper of denial to flow past them. She felt his growl more than heard it. It was deep, resounding from his chest and vibrating in the back of his throat. His hands slipped up and encircled her waist. She could feel each individual press of his fingers on her lower back, on the muscles on either side of her spine.

He could see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. His words caused it to race faster and he wanted to dip his head down and run his tongue along it. The soft denial angered him. She radiated need from every pore of her body and she still tried to deny him. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. He wanted to surge inside of her and hear her scream his name.

A magnetic pull wrapped around her spine and trailed out from the center of her stomach urging her to arch her back, to bring herself flush with the hard body of the man in front of her. Her breasts screamed and her crotch wept. She wrapped her small white hands around his bronze biceps. The contrast between them startled her for a moment, her pale and delicate while he was dark and primal. She intended on pushing him away, but instead her fingers curled around the bulging muscles, testing their strength and size. The instinctual female inside her was not disappointed.

The soft touch of her hands on him, sent waves of desire crashing through him. The beast inside of him roared with victory and he could not wait to claim his prize. With a masterful flex of his arms, he closed the gap between their bodies, sending a rejoicing shout of satisfaction ringing through her. Her breasts flattened against his hard chest, her softness melting into his chiseled torso. Finally, her throbbing core was thrust against his hard length, the press of flesh alleviating the initial ache while simultaneously arousing a demanding, frantic need to slide against him.

His inky black eyes burned into her and she tried one last time to deny him. Her raspy no drifted up from her dry throat and barely passed her lips before his mouth dropped down onto hers. His lips brushed across hers, surprising her with his unexpected gentleness. Sparks of electricity danced along her sensitive flesh, streaking down her body and colliding with a raging storm in her center. His tongue glided over her lower lip, arrogantly demanding entrance.

Her lips parted of their own accord and he swept inside like a swaggering conqueror, plundering her velvety depths. He groaned into her mouth, unbelieving at how good she tasted, how sweet. Her eyes rolled back as his tongue slid over her teeth and small firecrackers exploded behind her lids. She couldn't prevent her body from arching against him, from reveling in the feel of his warmth engulfing her.

Her hands slid up his arms to curl around his shoulders. Her fingers found their way into the nape of his neck, tangling into his ebony hair, locking his lips to hers. His arms tightened around her, his fingers flexing over her hip as he lifted her closer to his body. He ground himself into her welcoming softness and she bucked against him, her entire body screaming with want.

Their first kiss, the first of hundreds undoubtedly, her hazy mind concluded. So much better than the first time he tried to kiss her. It felt right, absolutely perfect and horrifyingly wrong. The first time he was trying to murder her not kiss her. Killer. Murderer. Monster. The mortification that she felt was immediate and blood chilling. Shame welled up inside of her, killing her a thousand different ways. She could not allow this to happen. She was betraying everyone she had ever known and loved. Her family, her friends…Yamcha.

Her eyes popped open, the only warning he received before she snapped her jaws shut, catching the soft flesh of his tongue in her strong teeth. He jerked back and her entire body wailed at the loss of his comforting heat. His wiped his mouth with his hand and he incredulously looked down at the blood that he found there.

Bulma hopped off the counter and darted around towards the door. He whirled towards her, a hateful snarl on his once sensuous lips.

"You whore! You bit me." He accused, his lips still bloody. His eyes were lit with rage as fire blazed within them.

She drew herself up the best she could without collapsing in absolute terror. She edged closer to the door, knowing that this could very well be her last few moments of life.

"That's it exactly, Vegeta. I'm not a whore. I wasn't one when you tried to sell me and I'm not one now. I won't play your slut to ensure my own safety. I would rather die first." She glared at him haughtily, praying that he didn't notice that her knees were knocking together in fear.

A deadly snarl echoed in the room, along with the rending screech of metal. Fear froze Bulma's muscles and cold sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades. "You had better run away, before I forget that I need you." Vegeta's threatening tone wove its way through her body, jumpstarting her paralyzed muscles and all of her bravado disappeared in a whiff of smoke. She turned tail and ran from the room as quickly as she could. It wasn't until she was safely ensconced in her room did she realize that Vegeta had twisted the stainless steel counter under his fist in an effort to control his raging fury at her.