Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Love Without Fear ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Love Without Fear

Chapter 2

Warning: This fic contains infidelity and lemon. Please do not read if you are offended by either.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own DBZ. *sigh* This story is merely for fun, not profit.

The apartment was small, smaller than Goten's apartment, which he'd been to once with Trunks. The furnishings were inexpensive and were of the non-permanent variety; the kind which came with "Assembly Required" somewhere in their descriptions. He was relieved that it wasn't messy, but it had an artificial, un-lived in quality to it. He wondered how much time the girl actually spent here.

She wandered into the kitchen area and set her purse down on the countertop. She turned and noticed her guest had only come into the apartment about six feet. He's never done this before, she thought. He wants it, I can tell; but his conscience is still working. Lucky I know how to turn that off.

She walked over and stood in front of him, close but not touching him.

"Did you decide what you want?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but he met her gaze. She saw perhaps a question in them, as if he really didn't know what he wanted.

"OK, then," she said. "How about I get what I want for lunch first? Maybe you'll think of something later."

Her hands skimmed his side and he realized she was pulling his shirt out from his pants. He jerked a bit when her hands touched his flesh and she gently brought one forward and traced her fingers on his abdomen.

"I'm starving," she whispered.

Both hands moved down to the waistband and unfastened his pants. She spread the waistband open, pulled aside his underwear, and reached inside with one hand to stroke his cock.

He hadn't even realized he was hard until she touched it. She stoked it lightly, tenderly, and then she knelt in front of him. He felt her breath on him. She held him in one hand and ran her cheeks along his erection, warm and soft. He felt her tongue graze the length of him until she reached the tip, then she parted her lips and took him in.

He moaned; he couldn't help it. It felt so good, so wet and slick. She began taking him in and out slowly, swirling the tip with her tongue when she reached it. The hand holding his cock began stoking in rhythm with her mouth and her other hand came up to caress his balls. So good. . . .

His conscience surged suddenly. He jerked her off him and spun around and held her against the wall. He stared at her, confused and frustrated. There was no fear in her eyes; she merely looked at him, her hair in disarray from his abrupt movement.

"Did you decide what you want?" she asked.

Something in her tone angered him. She seemed to be mocking him somehow, perhaps daring him to give in. He slid his hand from her shoulder, over to her neck.

"I could snap your neck," he said. "I want to snap your neck."

He did. He wanted to kill her for finding him, for seeing him like this, weak and out of control. He had spent thirty years gaining this control and in the last four months it had slipped away like sand from his fist. Nothing was familiar anymore. Nothing was safe. His anger called to him like an old friend. We know what to do, you and I, it said. Let me lead you back to what you know. Let me show you the way.

Guided by some unseen force, his hand trailed away from her neck, across her chest and cupped her breast. He squeezed it firmly, watching his hand in a detached fashion, hearing her moan as if from a television in another room.

She reached up and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a lacy bra. A quick twist of her thumb and forefinger undid the front clasp and her breasts spilled into his view. His other hand came up to cup the breast.

"Yeees," she said. "Take them."

He leaned forward and captured one breast with his mouth, playing with the nipple with his tongue until it was hard, and then biting it gently. He laved the entire breast with his tongue, warming it where it swept, and then cooling it with his breath. Her hand reached down to stroke is cock.

"Let me have some more," she said, dropping to her knees before him. She took him in her mouth again, aggressively this time, devouring his length. Her hands grabbed his buttocks and pulled his hips into her face, taking him deeper. She felt his hands weave into her hair, pressing gently to set a rhythm. She heard him moan and felt him getting close to his climax, so she pulled off him. She stood up and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He raised his arms as she did so, like a child being undressed. She dropped the shirt and looked back at his chest.

"Damn, you're beautiful," she couldn't help saying. She leaned forward and tried to kiss him, but he turned his face away. Instead she settled for kissing his neck and chest. His hands roamed over her body and begin to hitch up her skirt. She took a step back, pushed down her skirt and stepped out of it, revealing underwear that matched the bra. He reached for her again, but she slipped by.

"Let's go to my bed," she said and moved towards the door.

She felt his arms around her and suddenly she was in her bed, he on top of her.

"I guess you decided what you wanted," she chuckled, amused at his sudden urgency.

"Shut up," he said, taking her hands and pulling them above her head. He put both of her wrists in one hand, reaching down with the other to rip off her panties.

"Hey!" she protested.

"Shut up," he said again and buried himself in her. He froze immediately, as if shocked that he had actually done it. She felt his breath on her neck, his indecision. He had released her hands as he entered her, so now she placed them on his back, caressing with long strokes from his shoulders, to his buttocks and back again. She rocked her hips and finally she felt him respond. He moved slowly at first, hesitantly, but the feel of his cock sliding in and out, the dark power he exuded as he fucked her made her want more.

"More," she said. "Harder."

He complied. He moved with a ferocity that fed her fantasies. He pounded her until she came, then he pulled out of her and rolled her over onto her stomach. He jerked her hips back to him and entered her from behind. She pushed back against him as he thrust, feeling another orgasm coming quickly. He came when she did this time; his wordless cries torn from his lips, as if he were trying to hold them back, keep silent.

Damn was all she thought when she could think again. What a ride. She lay panting on her stomach, her body her own again. She turned her head to look at the man on her bed. He still knelt on the bed, head lowered, eyes closed. She wondered what he was thinking and then decided she didn't care. His inner thoughts or demons were of no interest to her. Emotions were for manipulating, tools to use to get what you want. Wallowing in them served no practical purpose. She glanced at the clock.

"Shit! I've got to get back to work!" She scrambled off the bed and found her torn panties on the floor.

"I'd be more pissed about these if you weren't such a great fuck," she said and went to find another pair in her drawer. The man on her bed didn't move.

"Hey!" she said, putting her face in front of his. "Time to go! Much as I'd like to stay here in bed with you all afternoon, I have to go back to work." She found his clothes and threw them at him. "Now!"

He finally looked at her and his eyes wore that glaze of "not seeing". He seemed to notice his clothes in his lap and began to pull them on.

"Good boy!" she said when she saw him dressed. "I'm really sorry to rush you off like this. No reflection on the sex, I promise. It was fantastic."

He accepted the compliment wordlessly, only the slightest incline of his head told her he was even hearing what she was saying.

"Look," she said, "You're the yummiest thing I've laid eyes on in a long time. Here's my cell number. You call me when you're ready for more." She opened her door and he walked through it.

She caught his face in her hands and brought her lips to his ear. "Next time, I'll drive," she promised and kissed his cheek. She vanished down the stairs, leaving him alone outside the door to her apartment.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. Finally he left. He flew aimlessly for a while and then steered toward home. When he got there, he took a long, hot shower because for some reason he felt dirty.

He didn't plan to go back. Honestly, he didn't plan anything. Eight times over the next three weeks he found himself outside her door. Sometimes she was home, other times he actually waited until she came home. He didn't think about how odd that was. He didn't think at all. He only felt and he felt . . . good. Gone was the uncertainty, the hesitation that had plagued him lately. Gone was the sensation of bursting into a thousand pieces. He was whole again, in control and he felt better than he had in months.

He smiled at his wife, kissed her; he even made love to her one night when she was home and in a good mood. There was no connection between that and the other in his mind, because Vegeta didn't think about the other. His anger had slapped a filter over his conscious mind, blocking out thought, reflection, and self-awareness. To say he was on autopilot would be overstating the matter. To say that some things weren't registering wouldn't be. He just didn't think. There was no need to think because there was nothing wrong. He felt good again. He felt like Vegeta. And if, in the quiet aftermath of loving his wife, his cheeks were wet, well, that too he didn't notice.

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

The Capsule Corporation Annual Employee Awards Banquet was in full swing. The awards hadn't been given out yet, but the bar had been open for an hour and the hors d'oeuvres were mostly gone. Michelle had been at the reception table, passing out door-prize tickets and nametags. Forty-five minutes into the event, it was determined that anyone who was going to come was already there, so she was free to enjoy the party.

She wandered from table to table, gossiping with other girls in the temporary labor pool or flirting with their husbands. She loved parties like these-free food, free booze and everyone out to have a nice time on someone else's checkbook.

She was on her way to the ladies room to fix her lipstick when she saw him. He was alone, standing in a corner in the back of the large room, watching the head table on the platform. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to see him here; he was Bulma's husband, after all. He just never struck her as the mindless party type. Considering where he was and what he was doing, it looked like she was right.

She watched him from across the room; watched him watch his wife socialize with everyone else. She was chatting animatedly with some older gentleman she didn't recognize; perhaps a vice president from another division. She saw his jaw clench as Bulma touched the man on the arm and whispered some kind of confidence, causing the man to erupt in laughter. Michelle could almost feel sorry for him. Pity would require her to feel something for someone other than herself, though.

She wasn't going to approach him. She loved sex with him, certainly, and sleeping with the boss's man gave her a certain jolt, but she knew on which side her bread was buttered. She had the best job she had ever had right now and she didn't want to screw it up; particularly since Tabitha had called and asked for another month's leave. With any luck, she would soon be out of the temporary pool and into permanent digs.

She watched him sigh and an idea so deliciously sexy came to her that she couldn't ignore it. She was wet just thinking about it. Judging from the expression on his face, it shouldn't be too difficult to enlist his participation in her plan. She walked over and stood near him on the wall.

"Exciting night," she said.

He didn't turn his head, but his gaze slid toward her briefly then back to the head table.

"Not as such," he said.

"Could be, though," she said.

He did turn his head this time. She ran her tongue along her top lip in invitation.

He looked away.

"Are you mad?"

"No, just bored and looking to have some fun."

"Not interested."

Yet, Michelle thought. She said, "Your wife looks like she's having a great time. Who's that man with her?"

Vegeta watched Bulma smile at the man in question. He didn't know who the man was or what he had said or done to warrant such a smile. His fists clenched. Had she even smiled at him today?

"She won't even know you're gone. She hasn't glanced over here all night."

True, he thought, but then he didn't attend these things to socialize. He didn't want to be pleased to meet anyone or exchange banal trivialities with virtual strangers. He only came because it pleased her for him to come. So he attended and vanished into a corner and waited for to come get him to go home. It had been this way for years . . .

So why did it bother him tonight?

"I know a place where no one will find us," she said. "And I bet you know the access code." She turned and looked at him. "Tenth floor."

He watched her leave for the elevators and turned his attention back to Bulma. She had dragged Trunks over to meet the man now and the three of them were deep in conversation.

She's right, he thought. I could go home and she wouldn't even notice for hours.

He felt his feet move his body toward the elevators.

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

"Mom, we need to get this started," Trunks said. "We're thirty minutes behind already."

"OK, OK" Bulma said. She looked around. "Where's the awards?"

"They were on the table in your office," Ellen Pavik said. "You looked over them this afternoon. Did you not grab them?"

"No, I forgot."

"Well, I'll just nip up there-" the assistant began.

"You can't. It's after eight-thirty. My office is in lockdown. I'll have to go," Bulma said. "I won't be long."

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

Bulma punched the code to disengage the lockdown on her office suite. There was no need to turn on the lights since there was enough streetlight coming through her office windows to navigate. Enough streetlight to silhouette the couple engaged in intimate congress on her desk.

She froze in her doorway. No one should be in here. Her office was one of the most secure locations in Capsule Corporation. No one could be in here.

A cold wave began in the pit of her stomach as she realized that something was terribly familiar about one of the couple. There was only one person on the planet with hair like that. . . .

Her hand reached over and flicked on the lights. It took less than a second for the couple on the desk to realize they had been discovered and freeze, but in that agonizing fraction of time Bulma had the unwelcome image of her husband's face lost in pleasure as he pounded the woman bent over her desk.

In an act of supreme self-control, Bulma turned away and walked over to the table in her office. She picked up the box of plaques and envelopes then turned back around. They had taken the moment to right themselves and make some adjustment to their clothing. Vegeta had pulled his pants up, but they were still unfastened and his shirt was still unbuttoned. Michelle's underwear was out of reach under Bulma's desk, but her dress was pulled down.

Bulma walked back to the door of her office and looked at them.

"Michelle, for unauthorized entrance into a secure area, you're fired. Pick up your personal belongings from Security after 9 am Monday."

She looked at Vegeta, but her lips wouldn't function. There were no words for what she felt. She turned and left her office quickly. Outside her suite, she entered lockdown code four, which effectively sealed her suite by locking all doors both ways. She figured she had ten minutes before Vegeta blasted his way out.

She hurried to the elevators and went back down to the party. She went up to Trunks, thrust the box into his hands and said,"Take over!"

Trunks watched his mother stomp out of the banquet. He looked at Marron. "What the hell was that all about?"

Marron shrugged. "I have no idea."

Moments later, his father entered from the hallway where the elevators were. His shirt was untucked and buttoned wrong. He gave a quick glance at the head table then he too left the banquet. Trunks gave a curious look to his wife, then noticed a third figure coming from the elevators. He recognized this girl as his mother's receptionist. The odd thing was she was carrying her shoes.

"Tell me that was not what it looked like," he said.

"That was not what it looked like," Marron said, but she didn't sound like she believed her own words.

There was no more time for discussion. Trunks's assistant had the awards in order and he needed to make the presentations. It was a long night.

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

"Fuck!"

As Michelle found her panties and put them on, she seemed to be chanting a litany that consisted alternately of the word "Fuck" and "This was not supposed to happen."

"This was not supposed to happen!"

"Shut up!"

She stopped and looked at Vegeta. He still hadn't fastened his pants.

"Excuse me, but I just lost my job!"

"And I just lost-" He stopped and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He couldn't get the image of Bulma's face out of his mind. The enormity of what he had done hadn't sunk in yet, but the pain in her face, the sadness in her eyes as she looked at him; those images had burned to his very core.

Michelle watched him, incredulous that the man could have no idea of the protocol required for this situation.

"Vegeta," she said. "You have to go after her."

He pulled his hands away from his face as Michelle's words sunk in. Yes, go after her. Explain.

He gave a brief nod headed for the door. It wouldn't open. He pulled harder. Still nothing.

"Maybe you have to enter the code again?" Michelle said.

He entered the same code he used to enter the room and still the door didn't respond.

He shoved his shoulder against it. And again. Finally, on the third shove, the door broke free. He went to the elevators and never looked back.

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

He found her in their bedroom, throwing clothes and other items on the bed. When the stack seemed big enough, she encapsulated it. Then she returned to the closet or bathroom and repeated the process.

Explain.

He didn't know how. He didn't understand it himself, how could he explain it to her? His lips moved, but all he could muster was "Bulma."

She didn't stop. She took an entire drawer from the bathroom vanity and dumped it on the bed.

"Please. . ."

She stopped. In thirty years, Vegeta had uttered that word to her only a handful of times. Hearing it now, in this moment, undid her. She did not look at him; she only lowered her head and looked at her life dumped on her bed-their bed-and spoke.

"How long?

"Three weeks."

"Is she the first?"

"Yes."

Her lips twisted into mirthless not-smile. "I suppose I have to believe you."

"It's the truth."

Truth. Was there any truth in her life anymore? Her eyes filled with tears and they began to run silently down her face.

"If you didn't want me anymore," she said through her tears, "couldn't you have just killed me? It would have been so easy. No one would suspect you, not after all of this time---"

He was beside her in an instant. He took her arms and forced her to look at him.

"No! It wasn't like that, Bulma-"

"Then how was it, Vegeta? Tell me how it was when you were FUCKING MY RECEPTIONIST!" She beat his hands off of her; her anger had finally found a voice. She scooped up the capsules and put them in a bag.

"I'm leaving," she said and moved to the door.

"Where are you going?

She looked at him. "I don't think you have any right to ask me that."

He went to her and made one last grab to keep her here. "Bulma---"

She jerked her arm away. "Don't touch me again."

Then she left him.

He stood in their bedroom for a few moments. He heard her capsule car leave, the engine noise vanishing into the distance until it too was gone.

Then he sat on the bed. He reached underneath himself to pull out whatever it was he had sat on and pulled out her hairbrush. He looked at the fine blue hairs woven into bristles and he felt his eyes fill with tears. He laid back on the bed and went to sleep with all that was left of his wife.

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Thank you for reading and please, take a minute to let me know what you think. Any feedback is helpful.

As always, hugs to Ember for beta-ing (too small a word for all she does!) and to debbiechan for creative feedback. Thanks, y'all!