Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Unbroken ❯ Mating ( Chapter 3 )

Unbroken

 

Chapter 3 - Mating

 

I awaken, once again, to find myself in an unfamiliar place. I defensively lash my arms out, only to find them restrained to a—bed? “I see you've finally decided to wake up.” The voice of the blue haired vixen echoes from across the room. I eye her carefully as she comes toward me. She is wearing nothing more than a thin white gown that barely reaches past her lovely backside. I shake my head, refusing to let her skimpy outfit distract me.

 

“Once I get my strength back, I am going to kill you. Slowly.”

 

“Now, there's no need to be so nasty,” she purrs while gracefully crawling onto the bed. She straddles my thighs just below my traitorous penis that continues to harden at the sight of her. I try to buck her off as best I can with my arms and ankles bound to the corners of the bed. I meet with defeat when I feel her clench her thighs around me, keeping me in place. She bites her bottom lip, obviously trying to stop herself from mocking my failed resistance. When she refrains from making any snide comments, I decided to settle my hips back on the bed—for that reason, and because the friction will destroy my control if it continues.

 

“I recall having a much nicer disposition when I was your slave,” she says.

 

“Like hell you did.” My venomous gaze aims to pierce her. Unfortunately, it seems only to entice her. “And I never raped you.”

 

She can no longer restrain her amusement with the situation as she unleashes a deep thunderous laugh. “Is that what you think I am going to do to you?”

 

“I don't want to fuck you,” I warn. “So any reaction you get out of me is unwilling. That is rape. I would think you would be familiar with the concept.”

 

The smile drifts from her face, as she grows very serious. I feel her soft hands lower to my abdomen as her fingertips begin to trace a gentle path around my stomach. “Yes, I know what it's like to be restrained on your back and forced to experience things you have no desire for. You see, that's why I need you like this. I am thirty years old and have never known the pleasure of a man. The pain of the male body, I am amply familiar with, but pleasure, that I need to learn.”

 

“So go tie down your wealthy benefactor.” I growl at the idea. After the way that fool acted when I threatened her life earlier, I have little doubt she has played this game before. “I am sure he would be more than willing to educate you.”

 

“Que?” She laughs, loudly, abruptly. “Contrary to his excellent aging, he is old enough to be my grandfather, and acts like a doting parental figure more often than not. But even if I had been inclined to bed him, he wouldn't be able to help me. I need a Saiya-jin. Only with one of your kind can I face all my demons.”

 

“Fuck your demons,” I hiss at her indignantly. “I have more than you do, but I never did anything this humiliating to you.”

 

“Oh really?” She raises an accusing brow. “What about dressing me every morning? And showing me off to your salivating enemies?”

 

“That was your idea,” I accuse. Or perhaps it was mine. But who came up with it does not matter. She had been more than willing to use her body to bring down my “salivating enemies.”

 

“Not dressing me. You did that for your own perverse pleasure,” she counters. “It's time you face the consequences of your actions, my defeated Saiya-jin King. You are all mine now.”

 

I laugh, it was not planned, but it sounded deliberate in delivery. “Yours? Woman, you have no idea what to do with a man like me. Why not unbind me now and save yourself the embarrassment?”

 

“A little embarrassment is a small price to pay for the chance to move on with my life.” Yes, that life she desperately wants without me. I clench my fists. Why does the idea anger me this much? We could never share a life together. I am the king of a powerful warrior species, and she is an alien civilian. She is offering me all I could ever want—a no-strings-attached transient physical relationship. Wasn't that what I always wanted—her body and nothing else?

 

I have a strong nagging feeling that there is something else I want from her, but I am not willing to explore it. Nor can I with her attention lowering to my erection. With a combination of relief and irritation, I watch as she rolls off of my thighs to stretch out next to me. She uses one elbow to prop up her torso while her free hand begins to skim over my chest, above my throat, then stopping on my right cheek. I turn my head to the opposite side, pushing her hand off momentarily.

 

“You are being very difficult for no reason,” she grabs my chin and jerks my face back toward her. “We can both enjoy our time together.”

 

“And how many times did Brolli say something like that to you, when you refused him?” I aim low, as low as I can to get a reaction from her. I do, but it is more disappointed and less angered than I would have preferred.

 

She releases a long sigh and then removes her hand from my face. She looks away from me, and then lowers her head onto my chest, just below my throat. I feel her long cerulean tresses fall around my neck, over my extended arm and across my chest. Her scent, which I have tried to ignore since I reawakened, assaults my senses with a potency that causes my eyes to drift shut. “You know I could never do to anyone what Brolli did to me. But with you… I hoped it wouldn't have to be like this.” I feel her breath on my nipple as she speaks. It sends a shiver reverberating throughout my body. I can barely contain a groan.

 

“Unbind me,” I demand gruffly.

 

“I cannot do that.” She does not lift her head from my chest as she refuses. “Firstly, you have already proven I cannot trust you not to try to escape—”

 

“Interesting objection coming from you,” I cannot help but remind her of her own escape from me, my bitterness still raw.

 

“Secondly,” she continues, ignoring my slight, “you don't know what is going on here. If Que knows I do not have you restrained, he will have his lead guard place you into a cell until we land. And then he'll likely try to sell you back into slavery. I am sure you do not want that.” This time she lifts her head to look at me. My eyes cannot help but fall to her luscious lips. I want to taste them again.

 

“I won't leave this room.” I must be insane to make the promise, but my mind is being overruled by lower parts of my body that are willing to give into her if she will grant my demands. “You want to fuck, we can fuck. But only if I have every appendage free to use as I desire.” I unwind my tail and snake it around her wrist. I drag her hand toward one of the manacles.

 

I can see the silent plea tempts her, but she hesitates. “I don't know that I can trust you.” She then pulls her hand away. “I can't.”

 

“Think so?” I growl before I lash my tail out at her, swiftly wrapping it around her throat. She chokes, grabbing the fur around her neck, attempting to break free. I do not let her. Instead, I use what strength I have in the appendage to pull her plum-coloring face towards me. “If I wanted to, I could strangle the life out of you.” I make sure she is looking at me, seeing the validity of my threat. It is only after I am certain she is convinced that I release her. “But I am choosing not to,” she collapses atop me, breathing heavily, clutching her throat. “I am only a danger to you if I choose to be. At the moment I have no desire to hurt you, I just want to shove myself inside you before my penis falls off for lack of release.”

 

“I don't think that is possible,” she snaps, while lifting her decreasingly bloodshot eyes. “And I never said I was ready to have you `shoved' inside of me. I need time. I need you to be considerate, gentle even. I doubt you can do that without me having some way to control you.”

 

“You give me too little credit,” I challenge. I turn my head away from her again. “You have no notion of the suffering I have endured,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “If you did, you would realize that by not yet killing you, I have more than proven my supernatural control. Now I could use a good fuck to clear my head. So you can either free me to exercise a few of my own demons or,” I twist my head back to see her wide eyes staring at me, “you can up your name on my list of people to butcher before I depart from this life. Your choice.”

 

She looks away for several moments. I continuously clench and unclench my fists, waiting for her decision. Finally, she pushes herself onto her knees. Her breasts dangle over my face as she leans across me to manually release one of my arms. As soon as the first is free, she hesitates. She watches as I lower my arm and slowly rotate my wrist to stretch out the kinks in it. She leaves my other arm bound as she moves to my feet. She unlatches one and then the other. She returns to sit next to me as I slowly bend and stretch my sore legs.

 

“Well?” I nod to my still bound arm.

 

She still does not trust me.

 

She shouldn't.

 

Slowly she reaches her arm out and closes her eyes as she punches in the code to free my last appendage. I can tell she fully expects me to do some bodily harm to her once I am free. I only partially disappoint. I grab her hips and roll her beneath me. I cover her mouth with mine. It is amazing to feel her beneath me. She is as soft as I remember, yet not as fragile. My weakened state makes her feel more physically my equal. It's a surprisingly arousing sensation.

 

Once her fear dissipates, I push the soft fabric of her garments up to find she is wearing nothing beneath it.

 

Perfect.

 

“Vegeta,” her exquisite voice whispers my name as I remove the garment from her body. Though she is now six years older, the time seems to have only enhanced her beauty. Her girlish youthfulness has all but disappeared, replaced by the maturity of a woman. A woman who knows exactly what she wants, and despite myself, I cannot be more pleased that what she wants is me.

 

I part her legs, sliding in between them. For the longest time, all I could think about was being inside her. After the hell I have been through, I want to saturate myself in her.

 

“Vegeta, wait.” I feel her hands grasp my shoulders. I lift my head to meet her eyes. She is nervous. I can see it clearly, but I have no idea how to calm her. Though I should be wondering why I give a damn about her comfort, all I can think about is how to control myself when I need her so desperately.

 

“I… I haven't done this before.” She begins to mutter almost incoherently. “Only with…And that wasn't…” Her eyes fall shut, and she contorts her body momentarily, as if she is in pain. Her hands lift to cover her face.

 

Not done this before? Brolli was her first? Though earlier comments she had made suggested such, the outright confession is still jarring. The idea that she was untouched before Brolli put his filthy hands on her feeds my already existing rage toward him. I want to kill him again for all that he's done to her, all that he's take from her. But beyond that, I now have yet another reason to hate him. He's taken this moment from me.

 

If the woman truly has no past memories of any positive sexual experience, it will be difficult, if not impossible to make her comfortable with me. She will view this coupling as something to endure, instead of something to enjoy. Fuck that. I won't be denied this chance to fully experience her. That bastard has been dead for more than six years. He will not haunt me now, and I will make damn sure he stops haunting the woman as well.

 

Though my body trembles with need, I force it down. Shakily, I drop my hands on the bed, each next to one of her shoulders. “Bulma,” I groan her name. When she doesn't respond, I slide my hands under her body, pulling her against my chest. I drop to my side, holding her with me as I do so. “Look at me.” I use my top hand to pull hers away from her face. Raw pain mars her cheeks. I swipe my fingers over her face as if the gesture is enough to erase her torment.

 

“He wins.” Her eyes focus on mine as I make the declaration. “If you don't let yourself do this, Brolli wins. He's broken you. Ruined you for all others. Is that what you want? To live the rest of your life bound to him?”

 

“Of course not.” She curses, her head falling forward to rest against mine. “It's just…Even after all this time… You don't know how hard it is to forget.”

 

“It's not about forgetting.” My eyes roam away from hers as my mind drifts to my own suffering. “I will never forget the moment my ki was stripped from me—the moment I became helpless against my enemies. I will never forget the savage pain they inflicted upon me. The misery. The humiliation. I will carry it for the rest of my life.” I flinch. I am suddenly furious at the entire universe for these memories I will always bear. “But I will not let it break me. I will not let it keep me from what I want. They win that way, and I never let my enemies win when it is within my power to prevent it.” My gaze slowly returns to the women next to me. She is now looking at me, her crystal blue eyes trapping my dead ones for several moments.

 

“I wish I were as strong as you,” she says finally.

 

I cannot help but release a bitter laugh. “At the moment, woman, you almost are.”

 

She smiles, her perfect white teeth betraying a genuine moment of pleasure. I realize I like this look on her. Six years ago, I had no hope of seeing it, but now, now, it is real. Perhaps her escape was not entirely the catastrophe I always ascribed it. Without her time as a free woman, she may have never evolved to this level of self-assurance, never gained the courage to be in this bed with me. No. Not a catastrophe at all.

 

“I will find a way to restore your ki. I promise.” Her deep smile slowly dissolves into a pleasant one. I realize I also enjoy this one immensely. “But you're right. It's not about forgetting. It's about moving on, about living with my past. I can't say this part of me was never broken, but I know it can be fixed. I owe myself that much.”

 

She takes a deep breath, and then untangles from my arms. She rolls onto her back, and then closes her eyes. She takes another deep breath, and then declares, “Okay. I'm ready.”

 

I frown as my eyes roam over her body. She is not ready. Her arms and legs are stiff, her eyes are clenched shut, and her hands are balled up into nervous fits. She looks like a soldier bracing for a beating from her commander. I run my hand over my face in frustration. I did not suffer through more than six years of unfulfilled lust for this woman only to finally get her like this.

 

“Open your eyes,” I demand as I roll on top of her. She peeks through one eye, and then opens the other. “No matter what I do, I want you to keep your eyes open and on me. I want you to see, to know, exactly who is rousing your body.”

 

She bites her bottom lip in the most delicious manner before silently nodding her agreement. I then take a deep breath of my own, and begin enacting what I have only been able to dream of doing to her for far too long.

 

Having imagined this scenario multiple times, I know exactly what I am going to do first. I lower my mouth to one of her breasts. The day I took my father's seat at his conference table, flaunting her in front of Brolli and his allies, is burning in my mind. When she lowered her top and brought my mouth to suckle her firm breasts, all I could think of was having complete and uninhibited access to these perfect globes. I could spend hours just re-familiarizing myself with them.

 

I lick her hardening peak, first on her right breast, and then on her left. I blow on each, allowing her to feel the chill of my saliva drying on her sensitive skin. I repeat the sweet torment until her chest is rising and falling at an accelerated pace. I look up momentarily to make certain her eyes are still locked on me as I had demanded. When I see she has followed my instructions, I reward her by encircling one of her breasts. My thumb and forefinger stretch out to lift the impressive weight upward. I squeeze the firm tissue, and then gently run my middle finger over her apex. I lighten my hold and then repeat the pattern as my mouth lowers to her neglected breast.

 

I brush my lips against it, and then circle a series of prolonged kisses around her light pink areola. I hear her take in a deep breath. I lift my eyes to lock with hers as I continue my path around her hard nipple. I see no fear in her expression, only arousal, and perhaps a little shock. As I see her watching me I realize my own arousal has returned, but I will not have one moment of this dictated by my own needs. I sense almost implicitly that seeing to this woman's pleasure will bring me more gratification than my own physical stimulation could.

 

At some point kissing is no longer sufficient for me, and I take as much of her breast into my month as I can. I suckle. I bite. I want to sear my mouth and hands on her. No matter how old she lives to be, or whom she settles down with, she will never forget my attentions. She will never forget the pleasure I brought her, the pleasure only I can provide her. Though I know I will not be her last, I want to be her only worth remembering.

 

“Vegeta,” I hear her plead my name. “I…I can't take anymore. You…You have to stop.”

 

I smile against her breast, anticipating this reaction. Immediately, I pull my lips and hand away. She groans as soon as her breasts are left unattended. “Be careful what you ask for, woman.”

 

She thrashes her head back and forth, frustrated, wanting. “Maybe…maybe I was a little…a little hasty.” She claws at the linens beneath us. I grasp her hands and pull them off the sheets.

 

“Maybe, indeed.” I bring her hands to rest on each of her breasts. “Now you will have to pleasure yourself.”

 

Her head stops thrashing and she looks at me. Surprise and confusion shine from her eyes as they dart back and forth between her two breasts. “No…” She tries to pull her hands away. I do not let her. “No…I can't…”

 

“Can't?” I feel one of my brows perk up. “Of course, you can.” My rough hands match up as best I can atop her small delicate ones. “How do you expect to experience pleasure with a man if you cannot find it by yourself?”

 

I begin to press her fingers in a messaging motion into her breasts. “You…You seemed… to be doing… a pretty good job… without me.” Though she pouts, she enthusiastically keeps up the pace with me. Soon I realize I can release her hands, and she continues to message her breasts without my guidance. To my enjoyment, she tries different paces, and degrees of pressure. She tries pinching, squeezing and lightly stroking her breasts. I notice she is particularly taken with tender ministrations. I tuck that knowledge away.

 

“That's it,” I instruct, pleasurably realizing that in some ways watching her touch herself is even more arousing than doing so myself. “Learn your body. What it likes. You'll never get what you want from a man if you don't know what it is you need.”

 

She looks at me suddenly; a bit of the sexual haziness she is in dissipates.

 

She smiles.

 

Fuck, I love that look.

 

“Vegeta.”

 

Fuck, I love the breathy sound of my name rolling off her lips.

 

“You really are trying to help me.” She releases her breasts and rolls her torso up so she is sitting up with me. Her hands wrap around my cheeks as she whispers, “Thank you.” Her mouth comes into contact with mine, and I open wide for her invasion. Her tongue lazily explores my mouth. I realize this kiss is unlike the other fast, frenzied kisses we have shared before. This one is more like our first kiss, when I wanted her even without knowing what she looked like. When for the first time, I realized I wanted not just any woman to satisfy my needs. I wanted this woman specifically. That had never happened to me before that night, and has never happened since we parted.

 

I allow myself to fall forward. One hand supports the back of her head, as the other feels for the bed. Once we are lying down together, she untangles her legs from mine to wrap them around my waist. She breaks our kiss just long enough to look at me. “I'm ready. Really. This time I'm ready.” She promises, and this time I believe her. She looks like a woman who truly wants a man inside her, not one merely suffering a fate she believes she must endure as some kind of rehabilitation.

 

“Keep your eyes open,” I demand once more as I press my erection to her vaginal lips. “I want you to see us joined.” She nods, and lowers her gaze to where are bodies are about to fuse. I push just an inch inside her. When I feel her nails dig into my back and arm, I pause to look up at her.

 

“Vegeta,” there is a slight hesitation in her voice as she suddenly shouts my name. Her withdraw at this point is not entirely unexpected—frustrating, hell yes, but unexpected, no. “I'm not going to stop you.” She must be reading my thoughts. “I told you I was ready, and I am. I just…Please, just… just… I just want you to be gentle when you make love to me.”

 

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My entire body aches. My entire body. I have never experienced an agony like this. It's a good kind of agony, but an agony all of the same. I need him inside of me. That's why this is working, that's why I am not freaking out. I need him, just as I suspected. Fear of my past cannot haunt me when this man knows how to arouse me so acutely. I do not have enough sense left to think of any trauma I have experienced. All I can think of is achieving, as quickly as possible, an orgasm.

 

So why is he just staring at me? Poised at my entrance, inches—inches—away from liberating me from more than one type of hell, and all he can do is look at me as though I just grew a second head. “Vegeta—W-What's wrong?”

 

“What did you just say?”

 

I blink, confused and frustrated in more ways than one. “I asked you what's wrong.”

 

“Before that,” his grip on me firms. “What did you ask of me?”

 

Ask him? I can barely remember his name at the moment, let alone what I asked him. “Gentle!” I finally shout miserably. “To be gentle.” Of course, I'm currently so desperate for him that gentle is becoming less and less of a requirement as the seconds pass.

 

“When I do what?” I gradually realize I have missed what has him so unnerved. “What did you say I was about to do?”

 

I drop my head back, and release a frustrated groan. What is he talking about? And why, when he is so close to giving both of us what we want is he grilling me like this? “You know what you're about to do. You're about to have sex with me.”

 

“That's not what you called it.” His voice is calm, eerily calm considering he has to be suffering just as much as I am, if not more.

 

“What I called it?” I blink, trying desperately to recall what poor choice of wording I used to offend him. When I realize my error, my expression must mirror his. Make love. I told him we were going to make love? What the hell was I thinking? He hates that word. Elites hate that word. Hell, I've practically learned to hate that word because of my depravation from it. What could have possessed me to say it? “Sex…I meant sex or fuck… I just…just wasn't thinking clearly… Call it whatever you're comfortable with.” Truly, at this moment, I will accept any word he wants to use.

 

“If this was a fuck, my hands and mouth never would have touched yours. If this was sex, your pleasure would mean nothing to me.” Now I am definitely confused. I thought he was angered over semantics. But his definitions seem to suggest something much deeper than my word choice has struck a chord with him.

 

“You're right.” I close my eyes for a moment to try and steady myself. “Not a fuck. Not sex. But also not love. We have to love each other for it to be that.”

 

He gives me a stiff nod, and then threatens any rational sense I may have left by pushing another inch of himself inside of me. I cry out. “What does that make this?” Another inch. “More than a fuck or sex, but less than love.” He hisses the last word with disdain. Another inch. “What is this?” He pushes another inch of himself inside of me, and then stops. He remains unmoving with just enough of himself in me to enflame a fire I had believed already an inferno. I am beginning to truly believe it is possible to die from pleasure.

 

After a few moments of trying to push him deeper into me, I realize he will not give me anymore of himself until I answer his question. He wants to know what this is. More than emotionless sex, less than love. What is in-between that? Or more importantly, what is the answer he is looking for?

 

Suddenly a memory strikes me, as I recall advice given to me the day of my escape.

 

“The way he acts with you, he has never acted with anyone one else, Saiya-jin or alien. There is something about you that makes him feel. Are you really so selfish that you will not indulge him? And no, I am not telling you to fuck him. If Vegeta just needed something physical, there are an endless number of women he could use. It is companionship he needs, a mate.”

 

“A mate.” I whisper, suddenly realizing why my wording meant so much to him. Beneath all of the bravado and indifference, there is a man, a tortured man. And not just physically tortured, but based on what I know of his life before we met, he has suffered emotional and psychological burdens as well. If all he needed was a body to drown his misery in, he could have used me and been done with me by now. Or just as easily, he could have forced himself on me six years ago. But that's not what he wants. It seems it's possible that even a man as cynical and jaded as Vegeta can want something more out of life. I suppose we have that in common.

 

“This is mating. For now, for this short time we will share together, we are mates.” I realize I have answered his question correctly when I feel the rest of him glide inside of me. I want to cry when I realize I am not afraid, or repulsed by what we are doing. This finally feels right. Having a man inside of me feels right—no—not just a man.

 

Vegeta.

 

It's Vegeta that makes this feel right, but I do not allow the thought to linger.

 

I feel him pull out, and then push back into me. He is so deep, he consumes me. He pulls out again, and then pushes back in. No pain. No violence. Nothing forced. It's perfect. Well, not perfect. These circumstances could never be considered perfect for a normal person. But for me, this is perfect. He is perfect.

 

“Vegeta,” I cry his name, and clench my body to his as the sweat agony I was experiencing before increases to utter torture. I am hot, wet, and utterly filled with him. I am nearing it. I can feel it. A real orgasm. The culmination to this act. The reason for it, the reason people want to participate in it. That rush of pleasure. It will finally be mine.

 

“Fuck,” I hear Vegeta's harsh curse. It's followed by hot jets of his seed flooding my body, filling an already suffocated space until I cannot bear it anymore more.

 

I erupt.

 

Pleasure.

 

It rips through my belly and expands all throughout my body, wringing every last delicious sensation I can endure until I became weak with exhaustion.

 

I think I pass out for a few moments, because by the time I regain my senses, I am under the covers on my bed. Vegeta is under them as well, lying on his side, watching me. With what little strength I have, I turn toward him. I force myself to smile.

 

“Thank you.” I don't know what else to say. I needed this more than he would ever be able to understand. He could have been difficult, and cruel, but instead he was perfect. For that, I will never be able to repay him.

 

“We aren't done.” He ignores my comment as an almost sly smile, as opposed to his usual smirk, graces his lips.

 

“There's more?” I ask partly nervous, partly excited, and partly inappropriately pleased that he still wants me.

 

“Bulma.” I hate that I want to smile like a school girl at the sound of him using my given name. “We are not even close to done.”

 

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