Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragonballz nor am I making any money off this story. I’m just having a wee bit of fun.

Bulma waited the next two nights in her bed, powdered, perfumed and wearing something suitably sexy. Both times she fell asleep waiting.

She was oddly disappointed. I suppose I should be glad one of us came to our senses and realized any kind of protracted contact would only wind up with one of us crazy—or dead. I just wish. . . .

Wish what? her brain said. That you’d never slept with him?

No, not that. She didn’t regret sleeping with him, she just . . .

Bulma didn’t know how she felt. Perhaps if she’d led a less charmed existence she might be able to recognize the feeling of wanting something you can’t have. Money paved a lot of roads and opened a lot of doors and frankly, Bulma was very used to getting everything she wanted. Whether it was possessions, knowledge or men, if Bulma wanted it, she got it.

However, here was something she couldn’t buy, someone who wasn’t intimidated by the considerable influence the Briefs name aroused. The strongest men on the planet cowered when she yelled, but this man yelled right back. This man could tell (and apparently had told) her "no."

I wish I could forget, she thought. She knew if she slept with a hundred men she would never want anyone as desperately as she wanted Vegeta. She used to laugh at the girls in college who were so dick-whipped all they could think about were their boyfriends. She wasn’t laughing now. Rather than fantasy, now her brain was filled with reality—the sound of his voice, his hands on her breasts, the completeness that she had felt as he filled her.

I should be glad, she thought on the third night after the "gravity room incident" (as she now termed it). The last thing I need is an affair with a self-absorbed alien.

She put on one of her comfy nightshirts and crawled into bed. There was no point in staying awake so she rolled over and went to sleep.

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If there was one thing Vegeta was getting sick and tired of, it was being surprised.

He was training furiously in the gravity room (using one of the computer simulations provided by her,) valiantly trying to wear out his body so he’d be too tired to consider giving in to his desire to accept Bulma’s invitation to her larger bed.

It had worked the last two nights. The first night he’d been lucky enough to crack a rib when he’d misjudged a training robot’s feint. Unfortunately his Saiyan physiology had healed it by noon and it didn’t look like he was going to receive any libido-threatening injuries today. Fatigue was his only hope.

So he trained. He battled robots and computer-generated enemies until he could hardly stand. When he collapsed to the floor though, the recurring thought was always how good Bulma’s hands would feel caressing his exhausted flesh. How the sweet scent of her would wash away the aroma of blood and sweat that constantly assaulted his senses. . .and it’d be good. . . .

Now he knew how good. Now he understood. He just hadn’t expected it to be so. . . consuming. Of course he had known, academically, that it would be pleasurable. Although the primary function of sex was procreation, the primary reason most sentient beings had sex was for pleasure. He should have been better prepared. Maybe if he’d been less finicky about sexual partners in the past he might not have been so surprised at wanting her again moments after he’d had her the first time.

She’d just looked so delicious laying in his bed, propped up on one elbow, nude except for that ridiculous top they’d pulled up out of the way, babbling some justification for him to be discreet, of all things. All he could think about was having her again.

Instead, he’d shooed her from the gravity room and hid in his bathroom so she couldn’t see the evidence of his renewed desire. Cowardly, he knew, but he’d been too surprised that finally having her had done very little to curb his lust. In fact, it seemed to have fueled it. And she was offering a sexual liaison of sorts. An indulgence he would have scorned a week ago as, well, weak.

However, this lust burned so brightly, it was difficult to ignore and even harder to understand. Vegeta searched his mind for something to compare it to and came up with a class "O" star, massive and hot, with a ridiculously short life span. Most of the customers for cleared planets came from Class "O" star systems since the stars burned themselves out so soon, taking the planets as well. . .

He paused. Ridiculously short life spans? Of course! This unreasonable attraction to Bulma Briefs could only burn itself out. There was no way it could sustain itself for any period of time. After all, they didn’t even LIKE each other. Fueling the fire could only make it burn out quicker, right? By indulging himself with this sexual liaison, he could effectively end it sooner.

Vegeta pulled himself up off the floor and went to shower. He’d already wasted two days.

*********************************************************************************

Someone was trying to break into her room.

Bulma was awakened by the sound of something outside her room. She froze; waiting to see if whatever it was (an animal, perhaps?) would pass on by. It didn’t and now it was fiddling with her window.

Bulma quietly got out of bed and looked around for something to use as a weapon. She eyed the lamp on her nightstand and wished she’d been thinking, "That’ll be handy" rather than "That’ll be cute!" when she had picked it out. It was better than nothing though, so she unplugged it and held it like a club, ready to smite whoever was dumb enough to invade her room.

A shower of glass hit the carpet and the intruder crawled in.

Bulma lowered the lamp.

"Vegeta, what are you doing here?!"

He crossed his arms and gave her a pointed look. "I was under the impression I was invited."

"Oh. . .um, yeah. I guess after two days I’d given up hope. . ." she clamped her mouth shut. He didn’t need to know she’d been awake waiting for him the past two nights. She busied herself with plugging in her lamp and turning it on. "Did you have to break my window? There are other ways of entering the building, you know."

"You’re right. I probably should have gone in the kitchen door, through the living room where your parents are still watching TV. That’d be really discreet," he mocked. He poked the shattered glass with a toe. "I really didn’t try to break it, I just got lucky."

"Ha-ha. You’re lucky it’s warm tonight, otherwise it could get a little chilly in here," Bulma paused, unsure what to say next. What do you say to a man expressly invited to your room for the purpose of having sex? So, are you ready to get it on? Wait here while I slip into something more comfortable? She suddenly remembered she was wearing her old nightshirt that said "Daddy’s Little Princess." How embarrassing. She vowed to burn it the next day.

"You do have a big bed," Vegeta said.

Relieved to have an actual topic of conversation (lame though it was), Bulma said, "It’s a king-size."

Vegeta looked at her and grinned. "How appropriate."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "I see your pride healed up just fine."

He shrugged, dismissed the bed and looked at her. "The bed appears adequate. " He motioned with his hand at her nightshirt. "Take that off."

Bulma was immediately offended. He wanted her to strip like some slave on an auction block? "Excuse me?"

"That ridiculous garment. Remove it. . . or I will."

Decision time, Bulma! Stay offended and order him from the room or do as he asks, well, ordered? Something told her that if she turned him out, she’d never have another opportunity. Well, what have you got to hide? What good is it to have a personal trainer if you’re still embarrassed to be seen naked?

Vegeta watched Bulma’s thoughts dance across her features. He wondered if she’d do as he asked. She might just rescind her invitation and show him the door, well, the window. He hoped vanity—and lust—would win over pride. He was not disappointed.

He watched Bulma’s chin lift slightly (was that a challenge?) as she grabbed the hem of the nightshirt and pulled it over her head. She dropped the nightshirt on the floor and glared at him, daring him to make some comment.

He didn’t though. His gaze floated over her body, from her head to her feet, then back again.

"Care to check my teeth?" Bulma asked tartly.

Vegeta lips turned up at the comment and he gave a small shake of his head. He walked toward her and stopped when they were almost nose to nose. His left hand reached to softly touch her womanhood.

"Why Bulma Briefs," he breathed, "Your hair really is blue."

Bulma moved to slap him. He caught her hand easily.

"Do you want to strike me, Bulma?" he said. His thumb lightly stroked the palm of the hand he’d caught.

"Yes," she ground out. "You are such an asshole."

"I am, aren’t I?" he agreed. "You know, I think you want me because I’m an asshole."

"No, I don’t. I want you because. . . "Words failed her. Why did she want him? Her brain quickly ran through the usual suspects--good looks, great body, quick wit—and dismissed them all, leaving her with no real answer to her question.

"I don’t think it matters why I want you," she said. She’d had enough of his button-pushing game for one evening. She could never win that game with him anyway. She pushed aside her irritation and decided to change the game to one she could win. Heh, one they could both win.

"I think all that matters is this," she gave him a soft, wet kiss. "And this," she placed his hands on her breasts. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples and she rewarded him with a soft moan. She reached down to caress his manhood, "And this."

"Nothing else matters," she kissed him again and placing her hands on his chest, she gently pushed him towards her bed until he was forced to sit down. She pushed him back until he was lying down, and then turned off the lamp on her bedside table. She crawled back to him and lay on top of him.

"In the dark, nothing matters," she whispered, "but this." Then she kissed him.

"Touch me," she commanded. "Show me what matters."

So he did.

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Ten days later, Bulma was walking through Capsule Corp.’s corporate offices marveling at how much had changed—and how little. The fights, the name-calling, and the threats of bodily harm--they were all there in full force. Bulma really hadn’t expected them to stop, but now there was an added layer to all their encounters, a new dimension. It felt so natural that Bulma wondered if this undercurrent hadn’t been there all the time—they’d both just been too pig-headed to notice. No wonder we kept blowing up at each other, we didn’t the correct proportions in the formula. All fighting and no making-up makes Jack a dull boy. . . .

"Miss Briefs?"

Bulma snapped out of her reverie and looked at the young woman in front of her, trying to place her. She was somebody’s administrative assistant, but she couldn’t remember whose.

"The Sinusan project meeting is starting. Mr. Carlisle wanted to know if you were still planning on attending?" the woman asked.

Carlisle’s assistant, that’s who she was! Bulma checked her watch.

"Yes, I am supposed to be there. Thank you for finding me," Bulma said and headed off toward the conference rooms.

You have got to stop doing that, girl! her brain scolded. That would’ve been the third meeting in ten days.

I can’t help it, she thought. She glanced at the passing faces as she made her way through the corridor.

I have a lover, she silently told the strangers who worked for her. Not a boyfriend, a lover. . .a secret lover. She smiled at some sixty-something woman at the coffee machine. You have no idea what I do at night, do you dearie? What I do with my incredible sexy secret lover?

A lover you know virtually nothing about, her brain said, and what you do know isn’t going to win him the Nobel Peace Prize. That bothers you. That’s why you zone out so much. You don’t want to think about how bloody those hands caressing your flesh really are.

Bullshit, her brain said. You’re just itching to know all about him.

"Miss Briefs?"

Bulma’s attention came back to the present. She was standing in the conference room.

"Did you want to take a seat?" Carlisle asked.

Bulma smiled sheepishly and took a seat.

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If I had known sleeping with the bitch was going to accelerate my progress, Vegeta thought, I would have taken her on Namek. He grinned as he finished the new program Bulma had given him yesterday. What a squawk she would have made, he thought, thinking of how she might have reacted to him on Namek.

He powered up, feeling the increase in his ki. He was nearing some threshold, he could feel it. Soon, he thought, soon I will be the Legendary. Then Kakarrot’s fate will be sealed.

He wiped his face with a towel and thought about showering and going to Bulma’s room. He supposed he should have been dismayed that the attraction hadn’t worn off yet, but surprisingly he wasn’t. Who knew the woman could be so inventive? He grinned again. And so responsive. . . .

The progress he was making didn’t make sense, considering he was actually training for less time a day than before he began going to Bulma’s bed. All his life he’d trained till he dropped and the minute he could stand again he was back at it. There was one trainer who had tried to curb this practice, a sensei Frieza had supplied before Vegeta had permanently pissed off the lizard and such gifts were withdrawn.

"Balance, Prince Vegeta," the sensei had said. Denri, that’d been the sensei’s name. "You must learn to balance yourself—too much on one side and you will fall. You must balance such hard training with rest or you will always fail."

Vegeta wondered what happened to old Denri, then his brows furrowed as he remembered that he’d killed him. Vegeta actually felt some remorse about it now. Maybe Denri had been onto something after all. While sex with Bulma could never be called "rest" it certainly qualified as a less strenuous activity than his training regimen. Maybe it was providing the "balance" he needed to get stronger. Who would’ve thought such mumbo-jumbo could be true?

In the end, the reason for his progress didn’t matter. He was getting stronger. He would fulfill his destiny and THAT was what mattered.

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