Chapter 1


Note: I do not claim any characters from plots from DBZ as my own, and I sure as hell am not
making any cash from this story, so please don't sue me.

****Since you people requested it, here is the sequel of Bulma & Vegeta. If you haven't read the
first story before reading this one, you may be confused by some of the references in this fic.
Please people, review. It is your shining words of encouragement that keeps me writing.****


As she opened her eyes, she could tell that it was still night. Flashes of lightening still cut
through the sky, and low growls of thunder rolled in the distance. She was wrapped in silk sheets,
in a bed that wasn't hers. Slowly, she turned in the arms of the man that held her. Knowing that
he was awake, Bulma ran her hands over his bare chest before she snuggled closer to him. She
had never felt so safe in her life. Looking up into his eyes, she was confused by the hardness in
them.

"Vegeta?" She questioned. His obsidian eyes were so accusing. What was wrong? Did
she do something to upset him? Lightening flashed once again, and Vegeta pulled away from her.
Rolling over, he swung his feet down to the floor, and kept his muscled back to her. Sitting up,
she drew the sheets around her for modesty. She didn't know what to say, he just sat there, he
wouldn't even look at her. She reached out to him, gently touch his shoulder. With a growl he
drew away. What was wrong with him? They had just spent half the night together, the most
incredible night she had ever witnessed. He was so gentle with her, with every move he made
sure that he was not hurting her in any way.

Bulma stopped suddenly, maybe that was it. Maybe he was rejecting her because she just
wasn't strong enough to handle him. She didn't know if she could take that kind of rejection. He
had seen a strength in her that no one else seemed to, and now he was rejecting her because of
another kind of strength? Bulma's face became flushed as her anger began to build. She just sat
there, waiting for Vegeta to make his next move. He just sat there, not talking, not focusing on
anything, just sitting. Peering over his shoulder, Bulma could see that his fists were tightly
clenched, and in the dim light, she could swear that there was a tiny river of blood seeping
between his fingers. Standing up, he turned to her, his beautiful body illuminated by the flashes of
lightening.

His eyes seemed so conflicted, and his scowl deepened.

"Leave, woman." He said, his jaw set.

"What?" Bulma almost whispered. She couldn't believe him. She had given herself to
him, completely, and this is his reaction?

"I said leave. Now." His voice was cold, even, almost mechanical. He looked down at
her, his eyes narrowed. Bulma really didn't know how to react. Her heart sank. The way that he
had made love to her, she thought that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to come around. To
open up. Now, her eyes flashed with the anger and betrayal she felt.

"Asshole." She hissed as she stood up, letting the sheets fall to the floor. She stood in
front of him, naked, daring him to look. He glared at her, his eyes falling on her beautiful curves.
With a growl, he turned away, trying to hide his body's reaction. With a huff, Bulma slipped into
her underwear and white tanktop, he would NOT be getting a second show. She grabbed her still
wet riding gear, and pushed past him to get to the door. He glared up at her, but she met his eyes
with an icy glare of her own. Slamming the door behind her, she threw her boots and leather
riding pants against the wall, scuffing it. Slamming her fist against the door, her emotions took
over. She fell back into the wall, and slide down it. Tears began to flow freely down her face,
and she drew her knees up to her chin. How dare he just use her like that. Feign interest in her,
just to land her in bed? The prick! She could have sworn that he would be different, that he
wouldn't be like the men from this planet. He treated her like she was a five dollar whore,
someone who he would never have to see again. She had actually trusted him! The guy who had
once tried to blow up the entire planet! Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her face with the back
of her hand, and quickly stood up. She was not someone who would be taken advantage of so
easily.

Taking a deep breath, Bulma readied herself for the coming yelling match. Turning the
handle roughly, Bulma swung the door open wide, and stalked into the room. About to let a
hundred insults fly at once, she stopped when she noticed the room was empty, the window wide
open. Breathing hard, she tried to get her anger under control, but couldn't. She sat down on the
bed, she could still feel the warmth of his body in the sheets.

"How dare he!" Bulma yelled suddenly as she hurled a pillow across the room. Letting
her tears begin anew, she stood up, and walked across to it. Picking up the emerald green pillow,
she brought it to her face and inhaled deeply. She could smell him on it. Tucking it under her
arm, she glanced back at the open window and walked out the door. Gathering her things
together she made her way back to her room. She dropped her clothing on the hardwood floor
and collapsed onto her bed. Curling into a ball, she wrapped her arms around the pillow, allowing
her tears to flow, unabated. With a grimace, she realized that she should have known that this
was going to happen. He was an arrogant bastard, who was raised to be a killing machine. She
should be happy, to find even that spark of gentleness in him. But it wasn't enough. The way
that he touched her, so carefully, so delicately, she knew that somewhere within him, there was
potential.

"Who am I kidding? He's just like Yamcha. 'Cept this is way worse. With Yamcha, I
least, I knew that he cared for me, in a weird twisted little way. But Vegeta? He..he just used me
for my god damned body!" Suddenly, Bulma felt extremely dirty. She could remember how
good it felt to just be held by him, how gentle and protective he was with her.

Trying to force her body to sleep, Bulma found that it just wasn't working. Pulling a pair
of worn jeans from her closet, Bulma slipped into them. She pulled off her still damp tanktop and
slipped into a Team Japan hockey jersey that one of her cousins had sent her from the Olympics
one year. Nearly tripping down the stairs, Bulma caught herself on the railing. She didn't bother
turning on the light, she knew where everything should be. Searching the cupboards, Bulma
pulled out the electric knife and began taking it apart. She knew that this, above anything else,
would help calm her. Her hands methodically pulled the tiny gears out, setting them up in precise
order on the table. As soon as it was disassembled, she began inspecting each part, making sure it
was all in perfect shape. Soon, her eyes grew heavy, and her head sagged. Promising herself that
she would rest her tired eyes for only a minute, Bulma drifted off to sleep, with her head resting
on her arm.



****So, what do ya think so far? Please review!****