Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Pink Silk ❯ Pink Silk ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Dragon Ball Z. However, I am enriched by it. Every time I think about Vegeta's abs, I'm…..enriched.

A/N: Just a little ficcy that I couldn't get out of my head. Don't get too excited, I'm pretty sure it's going nowhere.

Pink Silk

Surprisingly enough Bulma Briefs didn't like using her stunning and downright spectacular if she did say so, good looks to her advantage in the boardroom. It was there, in a room full of men and only two other women that she wanted to be recognized for her intelligence and her business prowess not how tight her ass was.

Whenever she had a meeting she dressed with great care. Her pencil skirts ended just below the bend of her knee so not to ride up her thighs when she sat, and her fitted jackets hugged her waist and breasts without enhancing them. The cream with black pin stripping suit she chose to wear for this meeting was feminine, but professional without being provocative. Her makeup was natural colors with pink blush lipstick and neutral day wear eyes. Her long wavy hair was pinned into a twist at the nape of her neck with no curls to soften the sides of her face.

Cool, calm and professional. That's how she looked on the outside, but Bulma had a weakness. To the world she presented a confident, (some would say boastful) front, but on the inside she was as insecure as the next girl. There was always that moment when she first met someone that she had a flicker of self doubt. Would they like her? Did they think she was pretty? Did she sound stupid? Even if those tiny niggling doubts were unfounded she still had them, and when she had to be in front of a room full of people who were judging her, whether it was her ideas or her leadership, those doubts compounded.

That's why she had a secret weapon. Fresh from the shower, smelling like peaches and her hair and makeup done, she pulled open a long narrow dresser drawer. Neatly tucked inside were fluffy mounds of silk, satin and lace. No one might ever see what she wore beneath her business suit, but the knowledge that she was armored in sexy lingerie made her feel impervious to any perceived slurs. She was sexy, smart and sassy, and no one would make her doubt otherwise.

She chose silk in the palest pink, a bra and panties with a matching lace garter. The bra was embroidered with eyelets at the front, and a dark pink satin ribbon was laced between her breasts. Though it had a tradition snap in the back, if her pretty pink bow came undone so would she. She liked the thrill of it. The idea her breasts could come unbound at any inopportune moment. Her panties had the same lace up ribbons on the sides, making her entire outfit a delight for any man to undress slowly. The image of being splayed out on her bed while a strange, muscular man slowly undid her bows with his teeth rose up. The sexy feeling of being desirable was already starting to work its magic on her self esteem. She smiled to herself as she sat on the edge of the bed, her cream suit still in dry-cleaning plastic next to her. She smoothed on pale stockings of one hundred percent silk, no artificial nylons for her, before tying them to her garter with old fashioned rose-colored ribbons.

Dressed in her lingerie, she stood up and glanced at her suit, taking in its finite details before slipping on her thigh length sapphire robe, a gift to herself, and her heeled slippers with pink chick fuzz across the toes, a gift from her well-meaning, but slightly off kilter mama.

If lingerie was her secret weapon, shoes were her kryptonite. She may be able to downplay her business suits to look as professional as possible, but cute shoes were a must have no matter the occasion. Each day no less than forty-five minutes was spent mulling over the addition of the perfect shoes for every outfit. This decision was so momentous it was deserving of its own room which housed her immense collection of footwear.

She opened her bedroom door, glancing down the empty corridor before crossing the hall to the room opposite of hers. She twisted the brass knob and pushed. Nothing happened. Bulma scowled at the offending door. Since the weather grown warm the door had become harder to open as it swelled and wedged itself into the frame. She shifted her weight and swung her ample hip into the door while simultaneously using her shoulder to force her way in. The swollen door came loose with an angry squeal and she lunged gracelessly into the room. Sneering at the door, she made a mental note to call maintenance. Still irritated she sauntered over to the terminal that kept track of her outrageous amount of footwear and typed in the parameters of her search.

Forty minutes later she was passing through the portal, one hand on the knob ready to close the door, the other arm piled precariously with a half a dozen shoe boxes. She felt the lose slide of silk around her hips as her belt became undone on her robe, before it snagged on the armrest of the French Country chair seated against the wall just inside the room Though the rustic look of the chair was charming, it could be deadly to silk. Very carefully she shifted her weight, hoping it would fall free on its own if she gave it some slack.

“Woman!”

Bulma yelped. As the boxes cascaded from her grasp, instinct made her lunge to catch them. Her other hand darted forward, bringing the door with it. The loud slam echoed in the coridoor. Her thin robe tightened like silk bindings around her shoulders and arms bringing her up short.

Her wide blue eyes darted up from the spill of shoes and clashed with Vegeta's piercing black gaze. He was standing in the middle of the hall, his chin angled with all the hauteur of a prince, even while only dressed in a pair of loose black training shorts. His bronze skin was shinned with sweat, a sharp contrast to her pale, freshly powdered flesh. All the color drained from her face as she realized her scanty robe was trapped in the door behind her, leaving her pink silk clad body completely exposed and framed in sapphire.

“Crapcicles.”

Frantically, she tried to turn around, but the captured fabric gave her no leeway. She pressed her back flush against the door, clawing behind her for the knob. It was no use. The thin fabric of her robe only jammed the door more and her position didn't let her maneuver to use her hips.

The entire time she struggled, her gaze never left Vegeta. She watched as he very slowly scanned down her body, his penetrating gaze first on her high breasts cupped in pale pink silk, before sliding to her lace belt and thigh high, cream stockings held up by satin ribbons of a slighter darker pink than her undergarments. A dark brow winged up at the sight of her silly fuzzy heels, and Bulma would have apologized for her mother's taste if she could find the strength to articulate words.

She stopped struggling, drugged by his slow perusal of her body. Her skin flushed, and to her mortification her nipples pebbled noticeably beneath the thin fabric. As his black eyes caressed their way back up her body they lingered on her breasts. His gaze was so intense, she could practically feel it. Like strong male hands cupping them. They swelled and the soft silk which earlier had felt like heaven was now constraining. She was struck with the sudden and completely inappropriate urge to tug on the lace nestled between her breasts, and undo the whole thing. To let them bounce free in open invitation to tease her nipples into hard, aching pearls. She admitted that Vegeta had starred in a few of her late night fantasies, but she never considered pursing the man, or conversely being pursued by him. Frankly, they barely exchanged more than a dozen words, and that was a chatty day. However at the moment, she couldn't banish the thought of him pinning her against the door, wrapping her legs around his waist and fucking her senseless. She shifted, pressing her thighs together.

Vegeta lifted his eyes from her breasts and she practically sizzled under his heated gaze. She leaned back until her head rested against the door, unknowingly exposing the white column of her neck. Vegeta advanced on her with cat-stealth grace and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes didn't leave hers until he was so close that he had to tilt his head to the side. She mimicked him, arching her neck. She could feel his warm breath feather against her throat--the delicious heat of his body as it engulfed her. He inhaled her scent beneath her ear, his broad chest expanding until it nearly brushed against her pert breasts.

She was still beneath his predatory attention. Her heart pounded frantically, but she couldn't seem to breathe. He shifted and her stomach hitched. He slid his hand forward, fitting along the indented curve of her waist. She barely resisted the urge to arch into him, intoxicated by the scent of sunshine and virile maleness.

He leaned back and she slanted her gaze so she could meet his eyes. She felt tension in his extended arm as he used his strength to force the jammed door open. She shifted backwards and would have fallen if he hadn't continued to hold the door. The world dropped out from under her, and her entire body quivered in anticipation. Her lips parted, and he watched as she ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. She swallowed, inching her hand towards the knob. Her fingers curled around his, surprised when he didn't immediately relinquish the handle.

“Did you need something, Vegeta?” She was breathless, her words a bare whisper.

“Need?” He furled a slightly perplexed brow, and she watched as his eyes flitted quickly down her body before meeting her gaze again.

“Something?” she prodded, her body arching alluringly on its own accord. Her breasts brushed his chest, and a shaft of pleasure shot from her nipples to her lower belly.

He withdrew, taking his heat with him.

“Nothing that can't wait.”

“Wait for what?” Bulma's voice pitched with frustration.

“For Hell to freeze over.”

Vegeta released the door and with a startled gasp she stumbled backwards. When she righted herself she was alone in the hallway.

“Dammit,” she fumed. Weak-kneed, it took her a moment to recover. She scowled at the jumble of shoes at her feet, before kicking at them in a fit. Sneering down the empty hall she jerked her robe around her, slammed the door shut and stomped off to her room, knowing that the rest of her day was going to be ruined by fantasies of a certain Prince undoing her under things with his teeth---and then walking away without so much as a thank you ma'am.