"What in the world got into you, Vegeta?! Why’d you make a scene like that?!"

"Oh, I made a scene?! Who was up on stage struttin’ her stuff, huh?!"

The couple had just arrived from their Christmas dinner. The argument they had suppressed on their way to the hotel had broken free immediately after the bedroom door closed.

"Y-you mean…you didn’t like my song?" Bulma asked with obvious disappointment. She had carefully gone through a list of good songs and when she came across that title, her lover had been the first to come into her mind. She had debated within herself whether or not to sing it, for fear it would reveal too much. However, her emotions got the best of her. Yes, she was beginning to feel for this cold man. That performance was as close as she could get to declaring her true feelings for him and this reaction was definitely not what she expected.

"Like it?! I was barely listening! I was too busy worrying that you’ll embarrass me in front of all those people out there!" Vegeta stormed.

"How could I embarrass you when I never even mentioned your name?!" the flapper fumed back. "I knew you’d want me to shut up about it and—"

"I’ve told you before that I hated surprises! And that act you made in that club has gone one step too far!"

"So what are you gonna do, huh?! Throw me out?!"

The boxer tilted his head towards his woman. What she saw in his eyes made her take a step backward: it was totally devoid of any emotion.

"I don’t think this relationship will work out," he stated, his expression dead serious.

"B-But..I-I thought we were doing so well…" the azure-eyed lady stammered, her voice cracking.

"That’s your thoughts; not mine," the man took a swig of bourbon right from the bottle to fortify himself. This left the German bewildered, for she knew him to be neat when it came to his liquor: always using a glass.

"You don’t mean that…" she whispered, shaking her head. A nervous smile found its way to her lips. "You don’t mean that…" she repeated as she strode towards the prince. She put her arms around his waist and snuggled up against his broad, manly chest. She wouldn’t have it. She wasn’t about to accept another rejection like that…not now.

"You’re lying…I know you are…" she whispered, more for herself than it was for him. She heard him swallow hard; then, she was gently pushed away.

"Don’t make things more difficult than it already is," Vegeta turned his back on the singer and faced the window. "It’s better to let go as early as now. That way, none of us will get hurt."

"Hurt?!" Bulma repeated. "Hurt?!! Do you even know what it is?! Since when have you experienced being hurt!?"

"More than you’ll ever know!!" he shouted.

"If so, you ought to know how I’m feeling right now!" the performer shouted back.

"Why would you be hurt, huh?! Because you wouldn’t be able to have anything you want when I’m out of your life?! Is that it?!"

"No! It’s because I love you and I don’t want to leave you!!!"

It was like a loud thunder had reverberated throughout the room. The couple stood still, engulfed by the coldness of the night. The silence was thick and deafening. Well-manicured fingers flew slowly to cover crimson lips, which had lost its ability to speak, its owner unable to believe what she had just said. The same was true for the man, his obsidian eyes shaking. Finally, he walked over to where his coat lay.

"Fool," he muttered while sliding his arms into his coat. "Stop deluding yourself. I’ll leave for now and I want you gone from here by tomorrow morning."

"Vegeta! Wait! I didn’t mean to—"

There was that door slam again. The noise sliced through the walls, bringing Bulma down to the floor. This time, her tears flowed uncontrollably from her crystal blue eyes. She had just found another man to love; sure he isn’t perfect, but he had given her a treasure no money could ever amount to: fidelity. Now, she was left blaming herself once more for another heartbreaking separation. Her break-up with Yamcha had been her fault. And Vegeta…

"What did I do wrong?!" she cried harder, her mascara drawing dark lines down the trail her tears had made. Unable to take the depression that was harassing her heart, she replaced that feeling with anger.

"I should’ve known he wasn’t different from other men. All of them are animals!" in a fit of rage, she decided to get even by doing what she had done to most of her dates: steal from them.

"I’ll show him! I’m not going down without a fight!" she ransacked through the bedside table, taking a gold pocket watch and a few hundred dollars. She would’ve started her search for his wallet when something inside the drawer caught her eye. It was the envelope the boxer had gotten the day after he got caught in the blizzard. He had warned his mistress never to open it and she had obliged.

"Well, I’m not his mistress anymore!" she tore open the envelope, her vision meeting a short but blood-curdling message:

She folded the letter, stunned. No wonder Vegeta had acted so strangely after reading this letter. She read the message once more, squinting at the tiny red mark of a dragon, shaped into the number seven. She thought there was some familiarity to it. Her brows met in the middle as she tries to assess the situation. Someone was threatening the prince. Of what she knew about him, he wasn’t the type of man that would give in to something like this. Why had he prevented her from reading this threat? Then, it struck. She remembered seeing two men in dark suits together with her beau, one pointing a finger at him. After those two strangers had departed, Vegeta had begun acting weird. All the pieces were now fitting in. He hadn’t wanted Bulma to be a part of this mess and the only way to do it without telling her the full details of the situation, was to get her out of the picture in the only way he knew. Stuffing the letter in her purse, the flapper made a grab for her coat and hastened out of the room. In a flash, she was outside the hotel, hailing a taxi.

"The Bronx please, and step on it," she ordered the driver, once she got in.

"Which part ma’am?"

"Do you know where Joe’s Gym is located?"

"Your in luck, ma’am," and with that, the taxi sped away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bulma looked up at the two-story brick building in front of her. Through the foggy window, she could see a bit of light illuminating from within. A wreath made of pine wrapped in red ribbon hung on the closed wooden door from which she began to knock. No answer. She knocked again. This time, it swung open. There stood a stout black man with gray hair wearing holiday colors: a red sweater and a pair of dark green slacks.

"Merry Christmas," he greeted, his friendly smile and demeanor putting the damsel at ease. "What can I do fer ya?"

"Merry Christmas to you too," Bulma smiled back. "Is…Vegeta here?"

"Vegeta? Are ya a friend of his?"

"Something like that."

"Well…he hasn’ come here yet. I invited him ta have Christmas dinner with me but he said he had somethin’ important ta attend to."

"Oh…are you Joe Winslow?" the German asked.

"Guilty as charged, ma’am. How’d ya know?"

"I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so happy to meet you at last," she shook hands with Joe in genuine appreciation. This blew the wind out of the sails of the former boxing champion.

"Ye’re a very nice gal," he opened the door wider. "Would ya like ta come in an’ have a bit of tea? Vegeta might come here soon. He hinted he would."

That pretty much convinced the viridian haired woman to stay. Joe led her to a small kitchen, where he had her sit beside a table covered in checkered cloth.

"So, what exactly is yer relationship with Vegeta?" he poured some tea to a small cup, which he handed to his visitor. "Yer not his fiancée are ya?"

"Let’s just say I’m more involved with him than I should be."

"Oh…" Joe nodded and gave out an all-knowing smile. "That boy neva tells me ‘bout his ladies. Ta tell ya the truth, yer ‘t firs dame of his I met. ‘Course, yer the only one who came here. Why did ya?"

"It’s a little personal. I really, really need to talk to him."

"Don’t worry. I’m not one to go nosin’ in on other people’s affairs," the Negro took a sip from his cup.

"Vegeta tells me you’re the one who raised and trained him since he was eleven," Bulma started. "I knew he was orphaned but he never really told me how his parents died."

"Well, t’was quite tragic. I don’t think he’s eva recovered from that loss," dark, chubby fingers tightened around the teacup. "His parents were very good friends of mine. Neva looked down on nobody, that couple. Fourteen years ago, his pappy went off ta Europe where he was killed in crossfire between enemy forces. His mother wasn’ able ta take ‘t emotional trauma an died ova a year later," Joe bent his head down. "His father died on Christmas day."

Bulma looked up from her cup. Now she understood why Vegeta hated Christmas.

"Is that why he’s so…moody?" she queried.

"He’s a good boy," Joe let out a tight smile. "He would’ve been different if he wasn’ orphaned at an early age, but he’s a good boy: doesn’ look down at us blacks jes like his parents. Ya don’t look down on us too. I knew ‘t minute ya appeared at ma door."

"I grew up in a neighborhood in Brooklyn were a lot of blacks were situated. I’ve also performed in a lot of nightclubs owned by people like you. Most of them are kinder than the whites."

"When ya speak of ‘t whites, ya sounds like ye’re not American."

"Both my parents are immigrants from Germany but I’d rather think of myself as German than American."

"Oh, that’s why yer so purty."

"Thank you."

"Would ya like some more tea?"

"Yes, please."

Joe filled his guest’s empty cup up to the brim. For a moment, they both drank in silence, allowing the liquid to warm their throats. Then, the black man sighed.

"I really hate lyin’ ta a good kid like ya," he pressed his lips together. "I’m really sorry. He told me that if somebody were ta look fer him,…well, ya know. Vegeta’s upstairs in his ol’ room."

"He is?" Bulma was immediately up on her feet.

"It’s the door to the right. Ya can’t miss it. We only have two rooms up there."

"Thank you very much, Joe," she beamed and hurried up the stairs.

"Yeah…real nice kid," Joe nodded approvingly, as his orange tabby cat slithered around his legs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vegeta stared thoughtlessly at the wooden ceiling of what was once his room. Though it was very cold, he had taken off his coat, wearing only a white shirt and a pair of dark blue pants supported by suspenders. The room was quite dim, illuminated only by the moonlight shining down through window. He turned to his side, looking through the window, where snowflakes continued to fall. Once in a while, sparks of colorful fireworks would glow against the dark skies. It made the boxer wince, since he had tried his best to forget the occasion; but it was hard to do so. However, there was another thing he wanted to forget but just couldn’t: it was what happened a few hours ago. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t have done what he did. Though he hated to admit it, Bulma had been special to him. Letting her go was difficult but this was a problem he had to face by himself. Then, he heard his door open and close.

"I told you I already had my dinner, Joe. Leave me alone!" he grumbled without looking at the person he was talking to.

"Vegeta…"

He sat up immediately after hearing the voice. There, he saw Bulma, standing in her red dress, a purse clutched tightly in her hand. Her make up was gone but she still maintained that same delicate beauty she had been blessed with.

"What are you doing here!?" he demanded. "I thought I told you to leave!"

"You told me to leave the hotel by the time you get back; I’ve done that."

"Don’t go philosophical on me!" he fumed, lying flat on his back. "Go chase yourself!"

Bulma wore a sad expression, as she was deeply hurt by the prince’s words. She sighed and opened her purse, producing the envelope.

"I came here to talk to you about this," she held it out for him to see. The sight of the death threat left him speechless.

"I saw you with two men awhile ago," she continued. "I assume they sent you this?"

"Don’t go sticking your nose to where it doesn’t belong," Vegeta muttered, still not looking at the woman.

"I know why you’re doing this," the flapper pursued, undaunted. "Deny it all you want but I know you don’t want me to be a part of this threat. You’re trying to protect me aren’t you?"

"Don’t you think you’re giving yourself too much credit?"

"Please, stop lying," the lass begged. "I just want the truth. I—"

"This is my problem, okay?! Not yours! I have to deal with it; not you! Now, get out of my room!"

"You don’t have to shout! I can hear you," Bulma set the envelope on the table beside her.

"Oh? So how come you’re not leaving?!"

"I have to know something," she swallowed hard. "Tell me the truth. Do you really want me out of your life or not?"

Vegeta shot her a look. No, he doesn’t want to let her go…but he didn’t want to tell her that. He couldn’t. Quickly, he turned his back on her.

"You want me to go?" the singer’s lips quivered. "Okay…I’ll go. Thank you so much for the last two months. I’ll never forget it," she hesitated against the door. Then, she added, "I meant what I said back in the hotel," turning the knob, she hurriedly let herself out of the room. She slumped against the wood and began to cry softly, pressing her palm against her tear-filled eyes. It’s over. It hurt, but it was over. Perhaps someday soon, she’ll find another man to love but deep inside, she knew there would be no other like him. The emotional blow she was experiencing made her body weak. She stood limply, using the door for support. Then, she fell backwards…directly into a surface she’ll never forget: Vegeta’s muscled chest. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. Before she could react, the man’s full sensuous lips came to dance upon hers.

"Don’t go…" he whispered in between kisses and breaths. "Don’t go…" he encircled his arms around the petite woman. He knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t turn her away. It wasn’t just because he wanted her; he needed her.

"Oh, Vegeta…" she answered his kisses with the same fire and intensity, her heart bursting with joy and love. They struggled into the room, the boxer locking the door along the way. As they moved further inside, the back of Vegeta’s leg hit the side of the bed, causing him to flop down on the worn out mattress, with Bulma sitting on his lap. A pair of dark pupils traveled all over the white girl, as if undressing her with a penetrating stare.

Vegeta started pouring moist kisses on his sheba’s shoulders and up to her neck, his hands fumbling with the ribbon on her waist. Bulma unbuttoned her lover’s shirt, sliding his suspenders down and unzipping his trousers. She pressed herself against him, enjoying the feel of his rising excitement against her own. He grunted when she did this and reacted by pulling her towards him, making her hips grind against his. Moans escaped from the couple as they continue to rub against each other, their lips meeting from time to time. They tore at their clothes, eager to feel skin against skin. With one strong tug, Vegeta managed to bare Bulma’s breasts to his yearnings just as a she too, stripped him of his upper garments. For a moment, all he could do was stare breathlessly at her, lightly stroking her emerald streaks.

"God, your beautiful," he whispered, clamping his lips upon hers. The cold air tickled their exposed skin, heightening their need for warmth. He gathered her breasts in his palms, massaging them in slow, circular motions, their tongues sliding into each other’s mouths. Vegeta guided Bulma to the bed, positioning her comfortably on the mattress. Quickly, he rid himself of the rest of his clothing before doing the same to the woman’s red dress.

When their garments had piled on the floor, the prince looked down at his mistress, admiring her soft, flawless skin. With turquoise eyes she begged him to take her; but she knew he wasn’t about to do that yet. Sure enough, he picked up her hand and began kissing each small finger, scraping it with his teeth. He slipped them in and out of his mouth, licking and sucking them lovingly. Bulma propped herself up with one elbow, bringing her face close to her lover’s. She parted her lips, welcoming his soaked tongue. His fingers worked their way to the hills and crevices of the lady’s body, gently stroking and touching her, bringing her form to life. It amazed her how such a strong man could be so gentle. In fact, of all the nights they had spent together, this was by far the most gentle, yet, just as fiery.

Vegeta’s lips slithered down the flapper’s skin, his nose flaring wide, inhaling the scent of her. He wanted to remember every single detail; every single curve; every single strand of hair. He nudged her supple breasts, his palms and mouth moving upon it. Bulma moaned as he continued to fondle with her nipples, moistening them with his tongue then taking them into his mouth, suckling like a starving infant. His other hand sank lower, running up and down the woman’s thighs before settling in between them, feeling her damp silky curls with his fingers. The damsel arched her back at the feel of sweet caresses penetrating her intimacy, a wave of heat and excitement rippling to the pit of her stomach. Her breaths became short and shaky, her hands grabbing the prince’s unruly black hair as he continued to probe and stroke her. She groaned loudly when he moved in two fingers this time, poking them in and out of her slippery folds. For a moment, she was numbed by all the titillating sensations washing over her from each caress. A warm breath of air above the source of her misery made her realize where her lover was. Just as she anticipated, his tongue drove in to replace his fingers.

"Oh God!" Bulma threw her head back while Vegeta lapped up the sweet juices within her feminine core. She wailed at the feel of his flesh slinking inside her smooth walls. The boxer closed his eyes to savor the taste of her, lightly blowing into her dampness before diving in again. The flapper was panting fast, immersed in the wild sense of pleasure that permeated the small room. She screeched when the man’s tongue flicked hard, causing her to sit up, her legs closing around the ebony crown between them.

"Ve…ge…ta…" Bulma breathed, her small hands making tight fists on the covers. He knew she was close to the edge but he wasn’t going to let her fall over just yet. He pulled out his drenched pink flesh, the last strand of wet, silky threads that connected it to the source breaking away. The singer uttered a cry of desperation; the boxer however, made sure not to disappoint her any longer. Slumping against the brass railing at the foot of his bed, he put his strong hands beneath the girl’s armpits and lifted her up. Slowly, he slid her down his tip, making her gasp when the whole of him entered her. He smirked at the surprised look on her beautiful European face as he sank down the mattress, lying flat on his back, the woman straddled over him.

"Wha—"

"Hold on…" he reached up, guiding Bulma’s hands to the brass railing above him. Almost instinctively, she gripped the rails tightly. Then, she was bounced; but it wasn’t her doing. Vegeta was bucking his hips upward, the additional weight of the flapper allowing him to fathom deeper into her slick passage. He began that same ancient, rhythm of thrusting in and out from her intimate depths, the rusted bedsprings creaking beneath them. He held on to the tops of her thighs, watching her flushed face and closed eyes. With each penetration, he sought for more, wanting to be closer than ever to his mistress.

Bulma was almost in a trance, her breasts bobbing up and down, her fingers curled around the metal for balance. Her cheeks were visibly red not only from her lover’s kisses, but also from the blood rushing through her veins. The experience of having him inside her was enchanting, her body urging for more. Suddenly, she felt a strong grip on both her wrists, pulling her away from the railing. She found herself reclining on the bed, her prince appearing above her. He ran his palm across her unblemished face, assuring her that this wasn’t the end of it. Still buried deep inside her, he stood on his knees and placed her left leg on his right shoulder. He began delving into her once more, his huge weight enabling him to slide deeper into her center. She let out a small cry, clutching the pillow tightly as he pressed on. Vegeta hastened his pace, driving himself harder and harder, his senses overwhelmed by all the sensations he felt. With each thrust came Bulma’s moaning, followed by his grunting. He leaned down and nestled his face at the nook of her neck, his cheek against hers, their hands wrapped around each other’s sweat-covered bodies. He felt her inner walls tighten around him, signaling the coming of her climax. He worked himself to a frenzy, giving out powerful thrusts which he knew would’ve hurt if the woman had not been drowning in ecstasy.

Just as the fireworks display started outside, Bulma dug her nails into her lover’s back, his name on her lips upon her release. Vegeta felt her juices coat his manliness and with one final deep dive, he flooded her insides with his seeds, roaring while he did so; but unlike all those other nights they had, he didn’t let her go immediately. The flapper did the same, her arms still groping around her beau’s shoulders.

Then, Bulma began jerking not only from the aftermath of their orgasm, but also from her sobs. The man set his sights upon her, taken aback by the tears that chorused down her cheeks. She was crying because for the first time in her life, she had experienced fulfillment after making love. The prince was experiencing the exact same thing; but just as always, he wasn’t very good at showing his emotions.

"Shhh…" Vegeta hushed, wiping his sheba’s eyes with his thumb, kissing her tear stained cheeks before pressing his lips on her soft, pinkish ones. After a few more moments, he lifted himself away and settled beside the flapper, holding her against him. Bulma’s crystal blue eyes widened, for he had never done this before. She smiled softly, listening to his heartbeat which synchronized her own, their fingers entwining. They snuggled up against each other, covering themselves with a thick blanket to shield their nudity from the coldness of the yuletide air.

* * * * *