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Parched	By : WickedInnuendo Category: Dragon Ball Z > General Views: 4688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Parched
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Disclaimer: Nope, I
don’t own, they’re not mine. Not in any
way, shape, or form do any of the DragonBall characters belong to me…oh well.

Author Notes: This
is a Bulma and Vegeta lemon oneshot for Goku’s Girl first contest.

Parched

By: Ember Maxximus

“Son of a bitch,” Bulma cried out in irritation. Abruptly standing, she kicked her seat
backwards, and slammed her soldering iron down on her white worktable with
unnecessary roughness. She picked up
the circuit board, examining it, hoping it might still be salvageable.

“Damn presbyopia,” she mumbled under her breath, tossing the
ruined circuit board into the garbage.
An entire days worth of work down the crapper all because Bulma simply
refused to make the needed doctor’s appointment with her optometrist to get the
much-needed bifocal prescription.
Bifocals, the word made her cringe.
Ever since she experienced her fortieth birthday last month she suddenly
had become painfully self-conscious that she was no longer the young
bewitchingly beautiful sprite, although it was far from the truth. In reality she was now the sophisticated,
drop dead gorgeous sex-pot, totally in a league of her own. The childlike roundness of her face had vanished,
while the short chic hairstyle she wore definitely accentuated her unique
beauty. Hell, she still got carded when
she purchased alcohol and on more than one occasion her teenage son had been
mistaken for her boyfriend.

Bulma was completely agitated. She walked to the opposite end of her personal laboratory. Opening the top drawer of her desk, she
reached in and retrieved her last pack of Marlboro red’s, a nicotine fix was a
definite must. She hurried down the
hall, away from the damnable project and outside to relax in her mother’s rose
garden to have a smoke. The exotic
woman exited her lifelong home, stepping outside into the surprisingly hot heat
of the bright sun. She squinted her
brilliant azure eyes, allowing them to adjust to this unusually hot June
afternoon. Bulma urgently tapped the
top of the cigarette package on her palm then opened the box. Only two left she mentally cursed to
herself, it appeared that a trip to the convenience store was on today’s to do
list as well, to purchase a new carton.

Bulma dug her fingers into the pocket of her khaki shorts in
search of her Zippo lighter. Once,
twice, then on the lucky third flick the familiar flicker of an orange/blue
flame danced to life. She took one long
drag from the filtered cigarette, mmm, instant gratification. The proverbial calmness washed over her
agitated nerves, another drag her shaking hands stilled their trembling. “God, I really need to quit,” she said aloud
to herself disposing the finished smoke and following it with a good catlike
stretch.

Albeit hot, it was a beautiful day, much to nice to hide in
the windowless confines of her personal laboratory, slaving over a project
which deadline was still an entire eight weeks away. She wiped the forming sheen of perspiration from her brow and deliberated
the notion of how splendid a dip in the Olympic size pool in the backyard could
be.

Bulma reflected on her swimsuit wardrobe. Suddenly the new virtually sheer black Gucci
string bikini, which left nothing to the imagination, seemed like the best idea
she had had all day. And with Trunks
out camping with Goten and Gohan until tomorrow she had the pool all to
herself. Her thoughts strayed to the
burning hunk of lovin’ killing himself in the gravity room. “I’m sure Vegeta would of approve of my
swimming attire,” she thought, licking her lips at notion of possibly being
ravished by her soul mate in the swimming pool. “But first,” she thought aloud, licking her parched lips, “I
could really go for a nice, ice-cold glass of lemonade. This heat is killer!”

Bulma turned around, adamant to execute her plan of water
fun, when out of nowhere she ran smack into a brick wall. Brick wall?
The aqua haired siren lost her balance and began to fall backwards into
the soft grass, when the strong hands of Vegeta, otherwise known as the brick
wall, reached out and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her flush against his
bare, sweat glistening chest. Their
noses practically touched then he ever so gently placed her upon her feet.

“Clumsy woman,” he jested, nipping the tip of her nose with
his teeth.

“Is that so?” she asked, rolling her vibrant blue eyes. Poking her finger as hard as could into his
chest, “You watch where you are going, Saiyan,” she said, sidestepping him,
focused on getting her itsy bitsy teenie weenie bikini, but alas no such luck.

The Saiyan prince seized the feisty woman’s upper arm, “Have
you forgotten your place, wench?” He implored in his diabolically sexy
voice. He smirked, thinking to himself
that that comment always roused the woman, eliciting a fierce battle of wits
from her clever mind and sharp tongue.

“My place?” she coyly repeated. “What is there to forget?
I am my own woman.”

With movements faster than the normal naked human eye could perceive,
he spun her around, trapping her firm voluptuous form between his well-built
one and the front door. “You are
mistaken little one, you belong to me.”
He nipped at her bonding scar hard enough for her to gasp at the
painfully pleasurable loving gesture.
She leaned her full weight on the front entrance as he sensuously
nibbled the delicate peaches and cream skin of her neck.

“Uh-eh, I belong to me.
I have no ring on my finger, no marriage license, I’m mine,” she husked
scarcely able to speak with him kissing her like that. He slid one calloused hand underneath her
white sleeveless shirt, playfully teasing her full breast. He meandered his hand downward palming the small
of her back, urgently pulling her into his brawny chest while his other hand
turned the knob to the door behind them.

“We’ll have to prove otherwise,” he countered in his
alluringly raspy voice. He pushed the
heavy door open, taking he and Bulma into the large empty house.

“My ring size is 6 ¾ and I always thought an August wedding
would be so romantic and—“ pulling the door shut behind him, he silenced her
ramblings with a heated kiss.

Trailing kisses across her jaw line to ear, he whispered
into her ear, “You talk too much.”
Vegeta pulled her down with him onto the plush tan carpet, resting
between her toned legs.

One by one the clothes that kept their bare flesh from
touching seemed to disappear almost magically on their own accord until their
nude bodies were pressed against each other on the carpeted foyer hallway. His mouth like liquid fire seared a path
from her neck to her full breasts; with deliberate slowness he tasted her
creamy perfect bosom, while his hand traveled to the apex of moist thighs. She arched her back as he pressed two
fingers into her warm flesh, stroking her urgently with expert caresses. Her mouth hung open in silent satisfaction
as she moved her lower body in time with hands. His tongue emblazoned a scorching trail down the smooth plane of
her belly, settling his mouth on delicious orifice of her hot sex. He ravenously drunk her sweet wine, he’d
become quite connoisseur of her body, touching and tasting her in ways that
pushed her over the edge and beyond in mindless rapture.

She ran her fingers through his flame like ebony locks,
coaxing him upwards. His mouth found hers,
pillaging her sweet lips with near bruising force. She greedily kissed him back, relishing in his uniquely
delectable taste mingled with the flavor of her own essence. How this man moved her was purely
inconceivable. He completed her in
every way, Vegeta, her dark prince, the love of her life and soul mate was her all.

He slid into her, her warm tightness enveloping his length
as he began pumping into her womanhood, in deep long strokes, in a familiar
timeless rhythm of ardent lovemaking.
Years they had been together, through good times and bad; thick and
thin. Never in all that time had they
ever tired of one other. The passion
between them growing bolder and bolder as each day passed like an all-consuming
wild fire. She was everything to him;
his home, his heart, his soul.

She wrapped her defined long legs around him, meeting his
every thrust. Her pleasure escaped her
lips in ragged breaths, becoming louder and louder as her lust filled moans
turned to wails, the acoustics of small hallway changing her echoing screams
into some ethereal song. The plethora
of passion she inspired in him was intoxicatingly maddening. No words could define the myriad of feelings
that her closeness could rouse in the depths of his soul. Lost in the magnificent haze of joy, he sunk
his teeth into the crook of her neck; reopening the bonding scar he’d given her
so many years. The sheer magnitude of her
orgasm rocked through her body with an intensity immeasurable even by Richter
Scale standards. Vegeta came
simultaneously, spilling his seed deep within her uterus.

“I love you,” she dazedly whispered against his glistening
skin.

He rolled off her, pulling her with him so that she was
straddling his lap. “I know,” he genuinely
smiled ar, sr, smiled, not that cocky little smirk that frequently graced his
features. He sat up, pressing his lips
to her, “You are mine, woman,” he softly spoke against her parted lips.

“I thought we had this discussion already, Saiyan.” She
purred back, raking her fingers down his scarred chiseled chest.

“And I have proven my point,” he informed her, attempting to
razz her into another quarrel.

“Territorial pissing is so 10,000 years, Vegeta. You’re
viewpoints and opinions have such an adorable caveman-esque quality to
them. Just because we still screw like
crazy doesn’t change the fact that I’m my own woman.” She pointed out to him,
tasting the salty skin of his neck with her kisses.

“You are wrong, Bulma. You wear my mark, bore my son, and
will bear my brat. Your body and soul belong to me as mine belong to you,” he
revealed, laying his palm on her flat belly, sensing the newly created life. “You are mine.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing the depth of his
confession to sink in. Vegeta took her
face in the palm of his hands, amorously pressing his lips to hers.

“I’m going to be a mom again,” she asked, voice full of astonishment
while realization slowly dawned on her, morning sickness, water retention, labor
& delivery, diapers, bottles; the list goes on and on. Bulma lifted her hand, balling it into a
tight little fist and belted Vegeta in the arm with all the strength she could
muster.

“That almost tickled,” he chuckled.

“I was hoping to knock some sense into you. Have you lost your mind, Vegeta?” She stood
abruptly, walking down the hallway into kitchen to fetch a beverage for her
parched, hoarse throat, reaching into the icebox grabbing the first thing she
saw, a Zima. She twisted the top, ready
to guzzle the alcoholic beverage when out of the blue it taken from her grasp
and replaced with a can of Country Time Lemonade. “Gomen,” she quickly said under her breath before popping the top
and sipping the sweetly tart beverage. “Just
so you know, there will be an August wedding. Maybe sooner, I want to fit into a wedding gown before I blow up
like a beach ball and F.Y.I. you
will be changing diapers mister, no exceptions.” Bulma took another sip of her lemonade and placed it on the
counter. “And another thing, you bet—“

He covered her mouth with his own, silencing her once again with
a kiss, all the while contemplating what the hell had he gotten himself into.

~end~
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