"What are you doing?!"

Bulma flailed in Vegeta's grip, her limbs moving rapidly as he launched them up into the air. Clinging to him for dear life, she shifted in his embrace and pressed her head into the crook of his neck. As she adjusted, Vegeta stopped, allowing her to get a good grip on him–even though he knew there was no way he was going to drop her. Below the city lights sparkled, fractured by plump storm clouds and misty rain.

"I'm taking you home," he said gruffly.

"There was a perfectly good car back there!"

"This is faster."

A strong beat of silence fell between them when the realization washed over her. She was right all along. His cruel comments about her appearance, while inexcusably rude, were a manifestation of his general concern. And him stalking her was an extension of that. It was creepy, kind of, and weird, especially for him; but mostly it was nice. Thoughtful, even.

"So, you were worried about me?"

The question made Vegeta wildly uncomfortable. Yes, he was worried about her. And seeing her being manhandled by someone who was bigger and stronger than her made him want to destroy an entire city block. She didn't deserve that kind of disrespect. The antagonistic part of him wanted to chide her and shut down whatever interpretation of tonight's events she was concocting in her mind. Instead, a softer side won out.

"I'm always worried about you, woman."

It hit her like a ton of bricks. The words rung in her ear, echoing like chimes. This was extremely uncharacteristic of Vegeta. The cold, calculated warrior was really showing he had at least one empathic bone in his body. If she hadn't been pressed so tightly in his arms, Bulma might've rolled over in disbelief.

The air shifted, the humidity breaking as they floated in the clouds. The gentle mist that began outside the Berkshire Room took a dramatic turn as a storm surged within the clouds, and soon rain poured down, drenching them to the bone. Vegeta didn't say anything more, instead flying at a comfortable pace to Capsule Corp. Alone, it would have taken him no more than five minutes to return to the compound, but Bulma was not a seasoned flier. He didn't want the wind to beat her down so badly she might never agree to fly with him again.

Again. He dreaded the thought. He was already thinking about flying with her again.

Huge drops of rain pelted them as they flew and Bulma winced.

"Is the rain hurting you?" Vegeta asked as she shielded her eyes from the rain and shook her head.

"It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't exactly feel great."

Vegeta kicked back his speed. Lazily, they floated through the air, water now clinging to their clothes. Despite it being a warm summer rain, the wetness mixed with the rush of wind sent a chill down Bulma's spine. She pushed herself harder into Vegeta's chest, letting the warmth of him bleed into her.

How long had he been at the bar waiting? Was he really that worried about her that he followed her? Looking up, she watched as his eyes focused straight ahead. His hand gripped around her knees and back, his fingers pressing into her skin. As if the wine hadn't left her already feeling dizzy, being this close to him was making her feel positively intoxicated.

"Thank you for saving me," she said quietly.

"I couldn't exactly let harm come to my landlord."

Landlord. Such an unsexy word. She rolled her eyes. She wanted to ask more about his evening and why he had chosen to follow her, but as soon as she mustered the courage, they were on the descent. Below was the glowing dorm of Capsule Corp., sitting like a beacon in the blackness of night.

He set her down gently on the terrace attached to her room, but didn't release her, instead keeping her in a bridal carry as he walked to the sliding door. He pulled it open, setting her down gently on the soft carpet of her room. She stepped in and expected him to follow. Rain slapped against the concrete and Bulma eyed him with confusion.

The fabric of his clothes was clinging to his body, revealing every curve of every muscle. His body was something to behold. How many times had she seen it before now and had not marveled at it? That familiar pull ran across her core, making heat bloom through her body. Despite being soaked, her mouth was bone dry. Had he always looked this good?

"Are you going to come in?"

She said it before she could stop herself. What she meant to say was, "Are you going to come in from the rain?" As in, it's pouring outside. As in, you live in this building too, so feel free to use this door and retire to your own chamber. But it came out as a much more suggestive question, one that was beckoning him and had him teetering on the edge of madness.

If he was soaked, she was positively dripping. Her black dress was already tight, but drenched in water, it clung to her, hugging every inch of her. Most deliciously, it made her supple breasts look even more enticing than they normally did. He swallowed hard.

He knew what she really meant–that this wasn't an invitation to fulfill all those fantasies he battled each night in his sleep. That this was merely a gesture of goodwill and hospitality for a man who had just done her an awfully nice favor. He crested the doorway into her dark room, swiftly shutting the door behind him. The only light in the room was from the terrace and the twinkling lights of the city visible from her three panels of windows. Outside was a soundtrack of rumbling thunder and the light tempo of a storm. In this light, she played the part of a siren beckoning him right into the eye of it.

His heart pounded in his chest.

"Thanks for the ride," she smiled, grabbing a towel draped over a chair and wringing out her hair. "Even if it was a bit wet."

"Don't mention it." He had to get out of this room before he couldn't control himself any longer, but his feet were cement.

She walked to her dresser, removing her jewelry and placing it in a turquoise dish. In the mirror that hung over it, she watched him watching her.

"You should really get out of those wet clothes," she said softly. "You might catch a cold."

The suggestion was nearly too much for him to bear. All he wanted to do was strip down, shredding his clothes and hers bit by bit. Pressure was building. It was so thick, it was almost suffocating. Under this spell, Bulma was seeing the Saiyan prince in an entirely new light. No longer was he an annoyance, suddenly he was a commodity, one she wanted to touch and explore.

Their eyes locked in the mirror and she let out a heady breath. He let out one of his own. It was now or never.

"Vegeta," she said nervously. "I…Do you mind helping me with my zipper?"

She easily could've pulled it down herself. She had done it only a hundred times before. But it was the perfect excuse for him to get his hands on her, the perfect way to let him touch her skin as part of something other than a playful fight. This was purely sexual, aggressively erotic.

Silently, he moved closer to her, his head spinning. She gathered her hair and moved it to the side, and exposed the back of her neck. Grabbing the zipper more delicately than he had handled anything in his life, he looked into the mirror once more, watching her searing gaze melt.

Each click of the zipper down exposed patches of skin, and then the straps of a lacy black bra and finally the small of her back. Behind her, Vegeta fought against the growing erection forming against his wet clothes, one she was bound to see if she looked down. He leaned in and inhaled her scent. Cherry blossoms and sugar. It was killing him.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly before turning around to face him. Their lips were so close. One dip, one single centimeter forward, and he could taste her. The look in her eyes told him that she wanted him just as badly. Heat bloomed between them while both screamed internally for the other to just make a move.

With Vegeta at a standstill, Bulma took a chance. Slowly she stripped off the black dress, revealing a matching lace set, her panties hugging onto her porcelain skin. Vegeta let out a low sigh as he fought the urge to devour her.

Barely able to contain himself, he let his lips crash on hers. For weeks, it was all he had dreamed about, and it was better than what he imagined. Tongues clashed as their bodies came together at last, a cord of pleasure tightening from him to her. Her hands went to his shirt, desperately clawing at it in an attempt to get even closer. In a single motion, he tore it off.

As their kiss intensified, he pushed her up against the dresser, causing a picture frame to crash onto the ground. She didn't even care that her back was digging into the knobs, the pain just made the intensity of this burning fury inside her grow. He rocked into her, sending another picture frame crashing and causing Bulma to let out a mewling yelp.

His hands wrapped around her back and broke the strap of her bra, freeing her perfect breasts. Cupping them in his hand, he let his thumb brush over her hard nipples, sending a wave of pleasure down her body. She moaned. Wetness pooled between her legs and she bucked her hips to grind into his, now trying to get her fingers into the hem of his pants.

He shoved his tongue even deeper into her mouth when he noticed the bitter taste. Wine. He had been so drunk off her that he forgot she was drunk off something else entirely. All he wanted was to have her, but he wanted to have her when she wanted to have him. How did he know whether it was him she was picturing as she kissed him? How did he know whether she was sober enough to even truly want this?

He broke their kiss and stepped back. Bulma just stood there in shock.

"What?" Her lips were swollen and her chest was heaving. "What's wrong?"

"You're drunk, Bulma." He took another step back.

Shock crossed her face. "Well yes, but no–"

"I don't think it's a good idea." He didn't even wait for her to respond, he headed straight to the door.

"Vegeta, wait, I–"

"It would be wrong." He took a deep breath, grabbing the door knob and shutting the door aggressively behind him before making his way down the hallway.

Bulma blinked. Leaning up against the dresser, she was in a daze. Once she got her breathing under control, she looked around the room and tried to collect her thoughts. She sat there for a while before retreating to her bed, still swimming in disbelief.

As she tried to find sleep and forget about the desperate need reverberating through her body, she thought about what Vegeta would've done if he had stayed.


Sunlight broke through Bulma's window, sending a beam of heat that nearly cooked her alive. Groggily, she opened one eye before shoving her face back into the pillow.

As expected, she had a massive hangover. Fumbling for the glass of water by her bedside, she took a desperate gulp and licked her dry lips. They were still raw from Vegeta's kiss. She laid in bed, letting the minutes tick on as her clit throbbed in want. She let her hand slip underneath the covers, delicately drawing them underneath the hem of her panties. Pressing against herself, she let out a moan of pleasure before the alarm clock on her bedside table started screaming at her to wake up.

Can't even get off to Vegeta even when I'm alone, she huffed as she pulled herself out of bed. One more day, she reminded herself, one more day and then she would be free of this project. Then she could spend all day pleasuring herself to the thought of that inexplicably hot moment the two of them shared.

Her greatest enemy kissed her with a passion she had never known, so much so the thought of him leaving her like that nearly crushed her. Yes, she was drunk. But she was also cognizant. She definitely had the ability to consent, in fact, she thought she was broadcasting her pure desire for him quite openly. She was the one who took off her dress, she was the one who pressed herself into him.

And yet, he ran away from her. She really didn't get it. Here she was, a beautiful woman in the sexual prime of her life living with a sexy bachelor bad boy from space. It was the perfect combination for sexual escapades, especially now that she was single.

She wiped off the eyeliner smudged down her cheek, put on a clean pair of clothes and headed down toward the laboratory to start her day. Time was ticking and if she didn't figure out this chip soon, she was going to be screwed.

That didn't stop her from purposefully meandering around the kitchen longer than normal, hoping she might run into Vegeta. It also didn't stop her from swinging by the spaceship, ostensibly to "check on repairs" but also in the slight chance the Saiyan prince might also be hanging around.

"Have you seen Vegeta?" She asked her father, trying to feign disinterest. She didn't even say hello.

"You know, I haven't," he said. "What did he do now?"

"Nothing." Bulma cleared her throat quickly as she felt her cheeks start to glow. "So, how goes the repairs on the spaceship?"

"Oh, fine, fine." Dr. Brief leaned over her desk and examined her blueprints. "How's work on the chip?"

A night out drinking, unsurprisingly, didn't put her in the right frame of mind to work on the chip. Nor did the night of almost passion, one that was still throbbing through her every time she pictured his hands tracing her rib cage. Nonetheless, she was determined to power through.

"Fine," she lied, smiling pleasantly. Her father nodded, bid her farewell and left her to her work.

It took her an entire hour and copious amounts of coffee, but once she found her groove, she was right back in it. With her mind so far away from the lab, it actually improved her ability to rethink the chip's main issue. She was seeing connections she hadn't seen before. They popped out at her like elementary problems. Soon, she was off fixing this circuit, tightening this cord. Before she knew it, hours had passed, and just before the clock hit midnight, the chip was finally working. As a new day rolled in, Bulma was furiously pouring her focus into testing and retesting. Finally, mercifully, she was done.

This was the best part of any project–the part where she finally put it to bed. Weeks of hard work and now she finally had the chance to relax and breathe. Too bad the only way she wanted to celebrate was by writhing against Vegeta's hard body.

She rested her chin on her hand and stared aimlessly out the window, using her free hand to stir a long dissolved cube of sugar into her coffee. Where was Vegeta? Why hadn't he come to see her after what happened between them? Outside, the sun was beginning to rise between the skyscrapers that dotted the horizon.

With a giant yawn, she put down her spoon and got up from the table. A few hours of sleep were in order before she delivered the chip. And then she would need to find a new project to occupy her time, hopefully one that involved a certain Saiyan Prince