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

I don't own or profit from DBZ, but we all know how I feel about Vegeta.

Scandalous

Bulma shoved one more jeweled pin into her hair as she twisted around to see her backside in the mirror. She smiled in victory as it reflected what she already knew. She was drop dead gorgeous, and knew how to work it.

She wore a backless, scarlet gown with a scooped front that was modest, but tantalizingly low enough to catch any admirer's attention. The silk skirt fell in a waterfall of folds to her ankles instead of her normally thigh length dresses, a concession she made for tonight's party. Her legs were too perfect to be incased in nylon, instead she massaged scented lotion on her freshly waxed skin, and slipped on some strappy heels. The outcome was sexy, but still professional enough for tonight's literary fiction gala.

Everyone was to come dressed as character from a novel. Her dress wasn't nearly in the ballpark of fictionally correct, but there was no way she was going dress in drab colors and itchy wool. Her final addition to her costume was a small square of paper she pinned to her bodice, drawing attention to her superb cleavage.

As she preened in the mirror, a flickering shadow outside her window caught her attention. She turned in time to see Vegeta fly by on his way to his room, a black scowl plastered firmly on his face. She huffed in frustration as she realized what that meant. She had expected him to stay in the Gravity Room most of the night as usual, but if he was out roaming around now, it was a sure bet that he would try to go downstairs later. That was something she absolutely could not allow. She had three hundred of the most important corporate, political, and cultural figures in West City coming tonight. The last thing she needed was one or more to being fried by a cranky alien on a power trip.

She checked her appearance one last time before leaving her room to make her way to Vegeta. He was housed in the west wing, and she had to traverse two long corridors, stopping to convey instructions to any passing staff, before she reached his room at the very end. The hall window was open, the sheer white curtains blowing in the light summer breeze. She thought about telling to upstairs maid to keep it closed at all times, after all Capsule Corp was a rich target for thieves, but she realized it would be fruitless. Vegeta would no doubt keep opening it. The man seemed to have a phobia with closed spaces. As she lifted her hand to knock, her knuckles brushed the smooth wood. The door slid open a crack, but it might as well have been the Grand Canyon from the view it revealed. There, picture perfect between the white, painted frame and the door stood Vegeta, naked as the day he was born.

His back was to her as he rummaged through his dresser drawer. Thick slabs of muscle stood in stark relief on either side of his spine, flexing and rippling under delicious bronze, almost gold, skin. She followed the line of his spine, exhaling through her mouth when she realized that the decadent tint of his skin remained creamy caramel from head to heel.

He bent over the dresser, his butt cheeks flexing, showing deep divots on each side. Bulma's mouth watered with the need to run her tongue along his salty skin, to taste him, to feel him, to absorb him. She wanted to sink her teeth into his flesh. Her eyes flitted up to his strong shoulders as he straightened. At first she wondered why there weren't any scars on the battle-hardened soldier, but her logical mind reasoned that he was a Saiyan. Any wounds he might have gotten would have healed long before they could have scarred, leaving his body smooth and unmarked. Absolutely perfect.

As her whimsical side and logical side discussed the perfection of Vegeta's body, a third voice sounded. It was the deep, dark one, which whispered to her to take the last piece of chocolate cake or reassured her that one more drink wouldn't hurt. Right now it was screaming at her. It wanted to know what Vegeta looked like from the front. She had secretly admired him for weeks as he strutted around in his training shorts, completely ignoring the fact that they were skin tight and wholly inappropriate.

Vegeta turned his head, looking at something out of her sight. He moved towards it, leaving her view. She waited with baited breath, eager to see him return. Minutes flitted by, but he remained unseen. She stretched up on her tip toes, trying to peek further into the room without dislodging the door.

“Enjoying the show?”

Bulma jumped three feet--straight into Vegeta's bedroom. Flame-faced, hand on her chest in fright, she spun around. Her mouth was gaping open to explain, but no words came out. She was paralyzed, her brain unable to function. Even her wicked no-no voice was momentarily stunned into silence.

Vegeta was leisurely leaning against the door frame, his arms and legs crossed in nonchalance. He looked taller, his muscles thicker and more defined. Of course, that could be because he was totally naked.

Bulma couldn't stop her eyes from roaming down his heavily muscled chest, stopping briefly to take in his bulging biceps. As mouth watering as the sight was, that did nothing to stop her from looking lower. There he was in the buff, hanging out for all to see. Her breathing stuttered to a stop, and her hand reflectively curled into a fist. He was absolutely gorgeous. Not handsome or well formed, or all those other pretty boy words. He was drop dead sexy, and by the smirk on his face, he knew it.

He must have noticed that she was staring at him with more than just a scientific interest, because he began to grow, stretching and expanding…enlarging…showing his interest in her interest.

“See something you like?” Vegeta's raw, sensual voice was almost unrecognizable. Bulma never heard him speak in such restrained tones unless he was making a deadly threat, and even then it didn't hold nearly the amount of huskiness as it did now.

Bulma's eyes shot up to his, her body warming at the sight of hard desire in his eyes. Her paralysis broke, and all at once she gathered herself, leaping for the door. Before she could think of the futility of it, she gripped the edge of the door, and slammed it with all her might.

The door crashed, but not against the jam. It flew against the wall, held in place by Vegeta's spread hand in the center panel. All at once the air in the room was sucked away, leaving Bulma's chest heaving with the frantic need to breathe. Vegeta stood in the doorway, his chin angled slightly downward, desire and anger simmering in his eyes. Something rumbled around her, and it took precious seconds for her to realize that it was Vegeta. She backed away. Slowly he advanced. He flicked the door shut behind him with a twist of his wrist, matching her step for step as they crossed the room. Too soon she ran out of space, the backs of her legs coming to rest against the dresser.

His eyes never left hers, their inky darkness becoming blacker with intensity. He was fully erect now, the excitement of her fear, and the thrill of stalking her cumulating into a sexual fantasy that was delicious to him.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped out, uncaring of her reason, but curious of her intrusion. Usually she made herself absent whenever he was about. He was almost certain it had nothing to do with fear, and more to do with her attraction to him. He couldn't say that it was one sided either. He definitely felt a pull when he looked at her. Tonight would be perfect to appease his curiosity.

Bulma snapped back to reality at his words. She didn't have time to dally with her live-in guest. His appearance, and Capsule Corporation's silence on the matter was already driving the media into a feeding frenzy. The last thing she needed to do was add to it by appearing from his rooms as a disheveled mess. She pressed her thighs together. Besides Yamcha was waiting for her…

She straightened her spine and pursed her lips, unwittingly appearing even more appealing to the Saiyan Prince. He was hard pressed not to grin menacingly at her when she did that. She had no idea how exotic she looked. So small and frail, poising herself to do battle. It was utterly beguiling.

“I'm having a party tonight. I wanted to make it clear that you are not allowed downstairs. I will have more than enough food sent up to you, but I don't want you causing any trouble.” Bulma wagged her finger at him as she delivered her tirade, confirming Vegeta's thoughts that she definitely wasn't afraid, which meant…

He lashed out, quicker than her sight could follow, and snatched her hand out of the air. He pulled her into him, only her sheer strength of will keeping her from colliding with his naked torso. Her caged hand hovered centimeters from his muscular chest, her blue gaze caught in the twisted vortex of his.

“You didn't have to come all this way to tell me that. You could have called.” He tipped his head, indicating the intercom on the wall.

Bulma blushed, certain that only her spine kept her from melting. He was right of course, she could have called him. Why hadn't it occurred to her to do that?

“I wanted to make sure that I was clear.” She was proud that her voice didn't waver, that her eyes didn't drop from his to the temptation of his naked body.

“You know I have no liking for social gatherings, and would have made an effort to avoid them at all costs. I think you came with another reason in mind.”

He stepped into her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. Her red lips parted in a gasp as her palm connected with his hot flesh. He felt inhumanly feverish to the touch. Nor did his muscles feel remotely human. They were hard like marble, impenetrable and unbreakable. There was nothing about Vegeta that screamed mortality. He was youth and vitality embodied. It drew her like a moth to a flame. She desperately wanted the heat of a man on top of her, inside her. A man who was hard for her, because she was a temptation, not because she was an old habit.

“There was no other reason, Vegeta. I just know how pissy you can be sometimes. I didn't want you coming downstairs in search of some schmuck to fry because you had a bad day of training. I have business to run you know. I just can't have you…”

Her endless rambling of nervous words were devoured by Vegeta in a hungry kiss. Everything she was going to say was lost to the sensation of his lips on hers, the enormity of the situation. He pressed her back against the bureau, gathering her up into his arms. Caught in the moment, she tangled her fingers into his hair, pressing his mouth down on hers.

She hadn't felt this on fire for years. A decade with the same man had left her painfully passionless. Vegeta awoke something in her. It wasn't just his looks. It was his scent, his pride. The way he spoke, the way he walked. How he somehow got everything he wanted without having to ask. He was all man. Pure and unbridled. And she wanted nothing more than to be the woman he sank himself into.

“Bulma, dear. Are you in there? One of the maids said she saw you heading towards Vegeta's room.”

Bulma felt cold water crash down on her as her mother's voice cracked from the intercom. She pushed Vegeta away, with more strength than should have been possible. He let her go for the moment, stalking her with his eyes as she stumbled over to the intercom.

“Yah, I'm here. I was just—“ She glanced guiltily at Vegeta. He was standing with his arms crossed, watching her with unsettling intensity. Her eyes dropped. The flushed head of his cock was brushing against his belly as it strained towards some desired goal. That goal, she knew, was her. Her gaze shot back up to Vegeta's face, her cheeks reddening at the confident grin he flashed her.

“Sweetie, the party is beginning. You should be here to greet the guests.”

Bulma broke her gaze away from Vegeta, nervously primping her hair with one hand as she replied to her mother.

“Yes, of course. I'll be down in a moment.”

No sooner had she released the call button than she felt warm breath on the back of her neck. The fine hairs down her spine stood on end, as if every fiber of her being was straining to touch Vegeta.

“It's going to take longer than a moment. I'm thinking at least half the night. Maybe longer, if your frail, human body can keep pace.”

She shuttered as his black velvet words wound themselves around her. He was so close to her, that she felt trapped in the moment. Time stopped, and the world became the space between their bodies, ending just outside the range touch. Her hand was still resting against the intercom, her long white fingers pressed against the buttons. On her forefinger was a band of gold filigree, decorated with diamond chips. A gift…

She curled her hand into a fist, her manicured nails, scraping loudly across the plastic plate.

“I have a boyfriend.” She shrugged Vegeta off, refusing to look at him. “And a party that needs hosting. I don't have time for your nonsense, Vegeta.”

Exhaling, she burst the bubble around them, and strode to the door. As she twisted the door knob, a growl swelled in the room. Every cell on her body went into over-drive. Fight or flight instinct overwhelmed her brain. She jerked open the door, hiked up her skirt, and fled down the corridor as fast as her three-inch heels would allow.

She didn't slow until she heard the faint peals of laughter below. Panting hard, her heart still pounding in her chest, she strove for calm as she oriented herself. When her mother first married Professor Briefs, Bunny had insisted the bachelor pad be renovated for entertaining. That meant adding a full-sized ballroom, complete with upper story balconies. Bulma rounded the corner to the upstairs hall that opened into three of the balconies on the west side of the ballroom. At the far end of the hall was the staircase leading down to the party.

She was tucking up stray hairs that had come undone during her flight as she passed the middle balcony when someone grabbed her from behind. She felt a brush of fabric against her face, as she was carried behind the curtain, into the balcony. The previously muted strains of the live orchestra became deafening, and the bright lights of the huge gold and crystal chandeliers nearly blinded her.

Bulma didn't have time to think on the matter as she was pressed face first into the cool marble wall. Behind her she could feel the overwhelming heat of the man who trapped her.

“I didn't say you could go,” Vegeta whispered in her ear.

It only took Bulma a moment to understand what trouble she was in. She braced her palms against the wall, trying to push away, but Vegeta held her firmly.

“When a woman says, no she means it, Vegeta.”

“Very true. And I respect that.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of her backless gown, tiny flutters that tickled the beginning swell of her breast and her ribs. Bulma's nipples hardened, and she had to swallow at the sudden dryness of her mouth. “However, I don't think the word no has actually been used yet.” His warm breath rustled the hairs behind her ear, and it was all she could do not to buck back into him in invitation.

“You wouldn't dare do anything here.”

“Why not? No one is looking.”

Bulma swallowed. “I'll scream.”

The backless cut of Bulma's dress allowed Vegeta to skim his hand inside her gown. His palm slid over her taunt belly until his fingertips brushed the tops of her silk panties. The press of his hand on her midriff nudged her to lift her heels up off the ground, which pressed her backside into him more deeply.

“I dare you.”

His tone was filled with taunting, but there was unexpected warmth as well. Vegeta was playing a game of cat and mouse with her. As disconcerting as that was, she was struck with the very real thought, that for Vegeta, she was the only mouse that would do, and that opened up a whole other level of disconcertedness, which somehow wasn't all that bad.

“The party—“

“Can wait.”

“The guests—“

“Won't hear.”

“Yamcha—“

Vegeta growled, withdrawing from her so completely she felt instantly bereft. He pulled her from the wall, sitting her down on the rose settee situated against the wall just inside the closed curtain of the balcony. She leaned back into the couch as Vegeta towered over her. Before chasing after her, he had thrown on a pair of tight black pants, and a white shirt which he had left unbuttoned. At her height she could see the indent of his belly button, the hollow ring looking utterly lick-able amidst the rock hardness of his abs.

Quickly she scanned the balcony. It was festooned with the same deep purple velvet as the entrance, creating a resting area for people who wanted to remain hidden from the crush below. The only way to be seen from the ground was to stand next to the banister. As they were, with curtains draped on either side, no one would see them unless they stood up, and stepped to the edge of the balcony.

Vegeta leaned in with predatory slowness, casually resting one hand on the polished arm of the settee and the other on the back of the couch, pinning her in. Hypnotised, Bulma watched the edges of his lips curl into a wicked smile that could melt stone.

“Is inadequate.”

“How would you know?” Bulma spat back. Angered, more at herself than anything, she pushed at Vegeta, struggling to stand up, and escape. A part of her knew he was right. She had been feeling unsatisfied with Yamacha for several years. She knew it had less to do with Yamacha's skills as a loving boyfriend, and more to do with her changing tastes. Yamacha was still Yamacha, but Bulma was different now, and she felt an immense amount of guilt about it. If Yamacha hadn't changed, then why was it that her love for him changed?

Vegeta sneered. He shoved the settee, upsetting it so it came off its front feet, and the back rested against the wall. Bulma blurted out a tiny scream she instantly stifled for fear someone would hear. She looked up at Vegeta, appalled at her position.

She tried to haul herself up, but with Vegeta blocking her way there was no way for her to get off the couch.

“If he wasn't, you wouldn't be so desperate.”

Rage leapt to life inside the part of Bulma that had lived life uninterested until this moment. She slapped Vegeta across the face, hard enough to make her hand sting--hard enough to make him laugh, if he was so inclined. Instead he dropped the settee, reaching for her. He hauled her up, lifting her over his head by her waist, to press his nose between the vee of her legs. She suppressed her scream of shock when he dropped the couch, but her gasped protest was audible out into the hall as he rubbed his face against her.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, struggling against him.

“If you weren't desperate, I wouldn't be able to smell it on you every time we cross paths. It is strongest here, but the stink of it covers you from head to foot.”

He loosened his grip, sliding her down until he could hold her beneath her arms. She was suspended above the ground like a boneless doll, as he sniffed under her breast, along her collar bone, and against her neck.

“I can smell it here too. Strumming beneath the skin. All that desperation and disappointment. Need. Want. All of it balled up inside you, looking for a way out.”

He nuzzled the underside of her chin, near her ear. Bulma's heart was thumping in her chest, and she had to struggle to breathe. Her hands were resting on the tops of his wrists. Not because she was afraid of falling, but because she didn't want to lose contact with him. No one had ever seen inside her like that. No one had even bothered to try before. No, that wasn't right. Vegeta wasn't trying to do anything. He just knew. He knew her insides better than she did.

“I don't know what you are talking about,” she gasped, before marshalling her anger. “And I absolutely demand that you stop manhandling me. I'm a person, not some bendy sex toy. Put me down!”

He stood her up on the couch, and her heels dug into the soft cushions, leaving her slightly unbalanced. His hands were light on her hips to steady her, but he stood arms length away to look up at her.

The anger he flashed her made her tense.

“So tell me. What does this boy friend do for you? Do you let him touch you here?”

His hand tightened on her waist, and she could feel the press of his fingertips along the curve of her back as he lowered his other hand to dip beneath the hem of her dress. He wrapped his hand around her ankle, sliding up, so his fingers skimmed behind her knee.

She thought to stop him, but she was frozen beneath his touch. When she didn't protest, he continued upwards, his dark eyes challenging her. He reached her upper thigh, and she shifted beneath his touch, widening her stance just the tiniest bit. Vegeta smiled in a way that made her shiver.

“Does he—“

“Stop,” she demanded, and he froze. “Don't talk about what he does to me. I don't want to think about it.”

“You haven't wanted to think about for a long time.”

She didn't reply, but met his stare with one of her own. She jumped when she felt his thumb brush the outside of her silk panties. Hot, wet desire coursed through her. Tiny tingles of anticipation fluttered at the base of her stomach, something she hadn't felt since she was a teenager.

“He makes love to me. There are you satisfied? He loves me. I love him. And we do the hokey pokey. Now let me down.”

She attempted to step down, but Vegeta closed the distance between them, his chest against her knees. Somehow his other hand got beneath her dress and he was holding her steady with a strong grip on the backs of her thighs.

“So you are telling me that all that emptiness I hear echoing inside of you is because you haven't had a good, hard fuck?”

Bulma's mouth dropped open, as she stared down at him.

“There is more to relationships than fucking, Vegeta.”

He smiled at her as if he knew a secret she didn't. He slid his hands under her silk panties, cupping her butt cheeks in his palms. She shoved at his arms. This was getting out of hand now.

“Good thing I'm not looking for a relationship.” He bit the flare of her hip, and she nearly collapsed over his shoulder at the pure pleasure it evoked. If it wasn't for the unadulterated cockiness in his tone as he spoke to her, she probably would have let him cart her off like a caveman's prize. As it was that tone made her angrier than the words themselves. She didn't want to be someone's good time fuck. She liked being in a relationship. He had no right to infer that being in one was meaningless. That relationships were passionless.

“You're someone to talk about emptiness. I've never seen such a hollow shell of a man. What do you have going for you, Vegeta? So fucking lonely you poach from other men.”

Vegeta released her. So quickly that she nearly tumbled off her precarious perch on the couch. By the time she had righted herself, Vegeta had retreated a few feet away, his arms crossed, and his features stamped with imperial aloofness.

“Bored is more like it. So fucking bored on this backwater world, that I would lower myself to play around with a worthless human such as yourself. I forgot myself for a moment, but be assured it will never happen again.”

Bulma scowled at him to cover the hurt and sudden loneliness she felt welling up inside her. Awkwardly, she climbed down from the couch, a near dangerous thing in her high heels. Vegeta made no move to help her, but from beneath her lowered lashes she noticed how closely he watched her.

She didn't say anything as she moved towards the curtain. Behind her she could hear the laughter of the guests, and the swell of Vivaldi's Spring dancing through the air. She gripped the curtain to push it aside, but she couldn't seem to do anything more than hold on. The dark voice was whispering to a sleeping place inside of her, nudging it with words of temptation. A pall of waiting fell across her. She was waiting for him to stop her. To pursue her. To make her heart race. But there was only angry silence emanating from him.

“Why are you pursuing me? It's not like you can't find tail anywhere. Jesus, you're a fucking god practically. You could get any woman to do all the dirty, little deeds you could conjure up in the deep, dark brain of yours. Not chase after a woman whose been having the same boring sex for ten years.

Still there was only silence from him. She could feel the weight of each individual year of her life with Yamcha pile up on her slender shoulders. It wasn't that she didn't love him. She did. But at what point does being in love just turn into loving? When does passion become companionship? Life lasted such a long time. Was this how it was it supposed to be lived, or was it supposed to be filled with adventure, thrills and maybe a little danger?

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?” he snapped back, as if words, any words were biting at his tongue to be spoken.

“I shouldn't have spoken so cruelly. But you were cruel too, Vegeta. People don't like to have their weaknesses waved about for all to see.”

There was a soft sound as he shifted his weight.

“I don't care---understand relationships,” he gritted out. “But it is not my right to comment on yours.”

“I've loved Yamacha for ten years.”

“Are we done now?” Vegeta snapped, flexing forward as if to leave, but stopping when he realized he would have to brush against her to escape. She reached beneath her hair, tugging on the clasp that kept her dress in place. The scarlet folds cascaded down her body, catching briefly on her round hips before pooling on the floor around her strappy red shoes.

“But he doesn't give me what I need.”

She waited for what seemed to be an eternity, staring at the purple velvet folds in front of her.

“So I'm just supposed to let you use me for your own carnal delight?”

Bulma glanced over her creamy white shoulder at Vegeta. Inside she was raging with fear and anticipation, but her countenance only showed hunger.

“It seems to me, Vegeta. That's the type of relationship you can understand.”

A low vibrating growl echoed through the room, and the fine hairs on her neck stood on end. In a fraction of a moment, he was behind her, radiating heat and raw sex.

“I'm not going to make love to you. I'm going to fuck you. It's going to be quick and a little dirty, and in the end you'll have forgotten all about your precious relationships.”

“Quick?” Her voice wavered. Her skin twitched on her back where his breath feathered over her.

“You do have a party to get to.”

He grasped her by the back of the neck, steering her to the settee. She knelt down on the cushions, wrapping her hands around the wooden back for support. Vegeta kicked her ankles apart, and she could feel the coarse brush fabric from his pants along the backs of her thighs. His fingers were sliding along the outside of her panties, playing with her clit through the silk. Her grip on the frame tightened, her breath was coming in pants as she pressed back into the palm of his hand. He was over her, licking kisses along her spine, cloaking her from the outside world. She felt his fingers curl, his knuckles pressing against her swollen flesh as he tore away her panties. His hand was replaced by his long, hard cock that slipped between her cheeks, sliding along her cleft without entering her. He tangled his fingers through the twist in her hair, pulling painfully at her scalp until she reared up. Her naked back was pressed against his chest. He was hot where his shirt didn't cover him. So hot she felt like melting over him like candle wax.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes.”

“That is real desire. Not some luke-warm response to years of habit. You asked, why you? Because, I want you. Bent over, sucking my cock, face to face. I don't care. I just want to fuck you.”

One of his hands cupped her breast, rolling her pearled nipple in his fingers. He slid his other hand between her legs, playing with her swollen clit. She writhed against him, her hands seeking purchase anywhere, before finally settling on his thighs. He was still wearing pants, having just unzipped himself, leaving her fingers to twist against the fabric in frustration. She wanted skin, she wanted to taste him, feel him. She wanted all of him. His hands teased her body into a throbbing expression of need. Below she could hear the party getting into full swing, and she knew that she needed to be quiet, to be as clandestine as possible, but she couldn't seem to stop the mewls of pleasure that were spilling out her throat. He slid back, just enough to angle himself, and thrust inside of her, ramming to the hilt. She was wet and ready, and offered no resistance. She squirmed against him, pleading for more with incoherent little sounds. He released her hair, pushing her back to her hands and knees on the couch. He gripped her hips, pulling her back into him as fucked her hard, driving into her with perfect remorselessness.

“A kiss,” she gasped, hard-pressed to breathe. She was so close to cumming she thought she was going to die, but she need one last thing to push her over the edge. He was rocking her hard, and her grip on the back of the settee wasn't enough. She pressed a sweating palm against the cold marble wall behind the couch, laying her head across her outstretched forearm. Vegeta leaned in close to her, swiping her loosened hair aside so he could see her profile clearly.

“I told you. I'm not making love to you.”

She curled her fingers across the stone, her panted breaths painting mist on the white and gold.

“Vegeta.”

He paused, pressing deep into her.

“Say it again.”

“Vegeta,” she repeated with more force now she could breathe.

He withdrew, and she cried out as if in pain. He spun her about, lifting her up with strong hands on the backs of her thighs. Instinctively she wrapped her long legs around his waist, the straps of her red shoes scrapping his back.

“Again.”

Face to face with him, she was able to look him in the eye. She slid her hands over his sweat-slicked shoulders before plunging her fingers into his hair.

“My Vegeta.”

He was inside her, thrusting his hard cock in and out with intensity. His mouth closed over hers, and she swallowed his kiss with a moan. Her eyes drifted shut as the world exploded around them. Strains of classical music wove through the air, dancing on their skin, as touch and sound became the only things to exist in their world.

Rocked to the core, Bulma clung to Vegeta as he came inside her, his growling moans empting into her mouth, and filling up the emptiness that had been building inside her for ten long years.

They stayed like that, locked together for a long while as the world readjusted around them. Slowly Vegeta withdrew, prompting Bulma to unwind her legs from him. Without looking at her, he began tucking himself back into his pants. Bulma refused to be ignored so she took up the buttons of his shirt he had left undone.

“Can't be running the halls half undressed, Vegeta. You'll cause a riot among the women folk.” She was still panting, and she had to resist the urge to lean her forehead into the hollow beneath his collar bone.

“Hn.”

She left the last few top buttons undone, and smoothed the material across his chest. Wordlessly he stepped away, sweeping up her dress, and shaking it out for her. She dressed quickly, relieved that there were no wrinkles after its rough treatment earlier. She fingered the paper still pinned to her bosom.

“I have to go—“

“Find your boy friend?”

She shot him a hurt look, before glancing away towards the ball room.

“Greet my guests.”

He didn't reply, and instead swept the curtain aside so she might step out into the hall. She was struck at the awkwardness between them. Her horror of what she had done came rushing back. She was a cheater now, with a capital C. Worse, she cheated with a man who could care one wit about her. A man who probably wanted nothing more to do with her.

“How's my hair?” she asked absently while tucking a few stray strands back up into her twist.

“Better take it down.”

She nodded in agreement, knowing it was far beyond repair. She took out the pins, but then realized she had no where to put them. Vegeta took them from her hand, and placed them in his pocket.

Bulma colored red when she realized something else.

“My underwear?”

Vegeta shot her a wicked grin that made her body heat up while patting his pocket.

“Don't worry about it.” His grin was quickly hidden away behind a bland expression when Mrs. Hunt, a literary professor at West City University came around the corner.

“Oh there you are my dear. Such a splendid party. A wonderful idea. Yes, indeed splendid. Are you okay, my dear? You look a bit peaked.

“Just a little tired. I've been burning the candle at both ends lately. I was just up here getting some air away from the crush of the crowd. It's very hot down there.” She fanned herself, hoping to cover for her flushed cheeks, and damp tendrils of hair at her nape. She was relieved that it was the professor who had found them. As a woman who lived in a world of books, she hardly noticed day to day life, much less the discomforted disarray of her two companions.

“You poor thing. You need your rest. And what might you be? A pirate?” she asked, blinking owlish at Vegeta from behind tortoise shell glasses.

“A prince,” Vegeta replied curtly. Without a word of goodbye he stalked down the hall towards the corner.

“Not very princely, but he must be tired too. Lot of that going around. Well, the night is young, my dear. Shall we?”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Hunt. Though I think I may be calling it quits early tonight.” There was something desperate in her tone as she spoke. She watched Vegeta over Mrs. Hunt's shoulder as he walked away from her. For a moment she thought he wouldn't look back, that he wouldn't respond. He reached the turn, pausing for a heartbeat. He cocked a glance back at her full of heated understanding as he turned the corner that left her with a feeling of lightness in her chest. Without realizing she broke into a dazzling smile that nearly befuddled her guest.

Vegeta had barely disappeared when Yamcha came bounding up the stairs, dressed in his baseball uniform.

“Check it out, hun. I'm Casey from “Casey at the Bat.” He held his arms wide as he spoke, a big, cheery smile on his face.

“Very clever, babe.” Bulma forced a smile as he picked her up off her feet to engulf her in a bear hug.

Nearby Mrs. Hunt clucked her tongue. “Didn't Casey strike out?”

“Huh?” Yamach replied as he placed Bulma back on her feet. “I dunno, I didn't read it all the way through.”

“Oh. And who are you my dear?” Mrs. Hunt asked turning towards her.

Bulma fingered the piece of paper pinned to her scarlet dress, with the large letter A printed upon it. “I'm Hester Prynne.”

Mrs. Hunt nodded, a strange glimmer in her dark eyes. “Of course, you are, dear.”

Together the group moved towards the stairs to join the party, but not before Bulma cast one more longing look towards the west wing of the house.