How could he not have expected to see her there? If you had asked him if he expected doctors and engineers in the National Convention of Space and Medicine, he would have told you 'of course you moron' but if you had asked him, if his blue demon of temptation, exiled from heaven, to attend this mortal affair, he would have denied it.
It was not like he did not know who she was, that information was placed at the back of his brain; for him, she was something else.
She was seduction in the flesh, temptation in a woman's body, lust escaped from the reins of hell going havoc in the land of mortals.
And he her biggest fool.
It had been months since the last time he saw her, the last time he lost control of his body, consumed by her arsonist ways.
Vegeta had left with instructions for her. He should have felt manly knowing she would be thinking of him when her husband was inside of her, that when she screamed her husband's name would be thinking of his.
He only felt worse.
In his mind, Bulma agreed to be his; he shredded her lavender wig and let her blue hair fly. The blue demon had landed in his territory, and he captured her, but not to send her back to be trapped in hell, if not, to let her run free in the lands of heaven, so that she could become an angel and make his terrestrial world a sacred place.
He was livid thinking of her with open legs under someone else, someone that wasn't him, enraged when he thought of her husband on top her, her husband who had every right to do it, but had not managed to tame her.
Although Vegeta succeeded in claiming her, she still belonged to him.
Because of that, every time his wife had suggested attending other swinger party, he immediately refused with the pretext of the upcoming elections.
What was the point? A monthly appointment with a woman who had to hide her true colors to be his? In that case, he didn't want to face her ever again.
And here he was, in a convention where she was the star.
The National Aeronautics and Space Administration had finally discovered how to manipulate gravity in aerospace vessels. Her research was going to make space travel possible.
Slightly, he tried to avoid her during the event but failed miserably. With that hair it was impossible, he lied to himself, but deep down, he knew how deliberately he tried to know where she was at every moment.
Notwithstanding that she was dressed in professional attire, she was still the most alluring woman in the room. She was wearing a large white lab coat with her family company logo on the front. Under her arm, she carried a folder with tons of paper about her research, and on her nose rested a tiny set of glasses. Nevertheless, underneath her coat she wore a tight navy dress that accentuated her curvy figure, a peek of cleavage, not too much to be vulgar, but not too little to not drag his gaze down, and pumps with a small heel, comfy enough for a restless day but perfect to still look charming
She was no angel, no demon. She was Bulma; she was just a woman, a busy doctor that after some tiresome day, probably ended the night with a wild game in the bed.
Unexpectedly, Vegeta was daydreaming about her again; only this time, they weren't in their room at the swinger party.
He was in his studio, finishing some late work when she stepped in, bursting with rage, bitching at him for leaving his dumbbells on the floor. He had done it on purpose; he loved when her bosom bounced with her ranting, how she pointed a finger at him and voiced every swearword she knew while her face reddened with all the blood rushing to her cheeks. Suddenly, he grabbed her waist and sat her on the desk, kissing his apology down her neck; she resisted at first, turning her face away, but when he demanded space between her thighs, she encircled his hips with her legs, announcing his victory of the play. He promised not to do it again between heated kisses; she didn't believe him, scratching his scalp as punishment-
A round of applause interrupted his thoughts.
Fuck. Was he fantasizing a domestic life with her?
For the first time, he had the courage to ask himself, what did all of this mean to him?
She walked down the podium and everybody surrounded her. Every man wanted a piece of her time, they talked to her and pried for her attention. Fools. She spoke to them in the most professional way, talking details about her research and her work. A silent smirk crossed his face, approving the way she was avoiding them, until quickly, he found himself at the same end of the other men.
She greeted him politely, said a brief of her work and parted ways to another conversation. No hidden smirks for him, no playful gaze, and no sensuality in her voice. If he thought he was mad before, rage was small sentiment now.
A hostess led the guests to an audiovisual room, where a documentary of her work was projected. The room was almost full, but he quickly spotted Bulma. She was at the end of the room with an open chair next to her.
He wasn't going to sit next to her; he didn't want to get slapped by her indifference again, but if she thought he would run away from her, she was mistaken. With little hesitation, he settled next to her. He was Vegeta; he wasn't scared of a female.
The time passed, and she didn't even blink in his direction. Frustrated at her indifference he leaned in to whisper, "Are you going to pretend that we don't know each other?"
With eyes focused on the screen in front of them, she spoke to him. "It's what you've been doing, I assumed you wanted the same from me."
"I was busy."
"As you can see, so was I."
She spoke with the coldest tone she had, and her crossed arms didn't leave space for fake apologies. Of all the moods that this woman could have, dispassionate was not the one he wanted.
"After the third time, you did not come to the parties, I concluded that you... ended things," she recounted with a bleakness in her voice. Her apathy had lowered, and she was giving him the opportunity to improve his answer, but Vegeta selfish as always, just heard what he wanted.
"Did you attend more events?" With the sudden rage that made him raise his voice, a few stares glanced in their direction but turned away when they didn't see anything interesting. After calming himself, he spoke lower this time but no less choleric. "Did you fuck others?"
It was her time to feel angry with the man. "Not that it's your fucking business, but no, I didn't."
Was that supposed to appease him? The hell it did. Not that it's your fucking business. It was; she was his. Even though she was in bed with her husband every night, Vegeta had claimed her as his, and she had agreed.
"Did you did what I to-"
"Yes, I did," she interrupted him; her tone was cutting. Her nostrils billowed with the hard inhales she was taking, and her flammable gaze could have burned the screen in front of them. A silence widened between them, whereas a longing creeped at him.
"Why did you stop attending the meetings?" She broke the silence after some time, just to leave him speechless again.
He was about to lie, "My... wife-" when she cut him off anew.
"Don't say your wife. After that demonstration in my house, I know she likes those kinds of parties."
She glanced in his direction, but he turned is gaze away from her eyes.
How could he explain? Did she believe in heaven and hell? Demons and angels?
It was beyond jealousy; he felt envious of her husband for sharing a bed with her, but the sentiment was indescribable for him. He felt that life had thrown a foul play at him, gambling with his wife at disloyalty, he found a person with whom he wanted to be loyal.
Damn. Had he fallen for her?
While marriage never meant anything to him, divorce did. Since he married his wife, his father in law had helped him get his position in the Senate, his shady connections and corrupted works favored his ascension. It had taken him three years with his wife to finally gain his position as a congressman. Would he throw that away for an affair with the woman? Just because he had been stupid enough to fall for her?
"I think you're are afraid," she offered when he failed to reply.
Afraid? Of her husband? Please, the moron was a weak worm.
"You are afraid of what I make you feel." Her voice tingled fervently and his heart started hammering his thorax. "You like the way you touch me and the way I touch you." Summoned by his errant thoughts, one of her hands rested in his inner thigh. "You are scared because you like these new things you didn't know you liked." Her fingers traced imaginary circles in his slacks sending blood to the wrong places. "And you are terrified of exploring more because I am the one who makes you feel this way and not your wife."
Her voice was a low whisper in the room, save that it was fueled with excitement, and her eyes that no longer were glued to screen but to him instead, were like avid flames of propane trying to turn fire in his gut. His head hurt from wondering if she was guessing how he felt or describing the way she felt.
His eyes darted around the place trying to see if someone had caught them, but apparently, her scientific work, equal as her body, was extraordinarily interesting. Scoffing, he crossed his arms and tried to persuade her rightful hit.
"What else can we explore that we have not done before?"
A dangerous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, and without warning, her hand went to massage his already hard cock over the fabric of his pants as she leaned to whisper in his ear.
"We are in our room, at the swinger place, but this time you are the one on fours in the couch." Her fingers slid down and up his throbbing length, and he glanced around frantically, digits pressing in his biceps.
"I am behind you when you feel the tip of my harness in your ass," Her palm ground against his bulge while he couldn't stop his hips from budging back.
"Slowly, I push forward forcing myself inside of you" he gasped appalled when she fisted her hand over his dick.
"While my hand grabs your cock, to masturbate you." With the restraint of his clothes, her hand slid down in his dick a few times with a firm grip, until unexpectedly, she withdrew her hands and ministrations from him.
The stiffness of his body didn't calm when her tortuous hands left his body; the opposite, he tensed more when he didn't feel her touch. Everybody was immersed to the screen, while he had his mind far away from there.
'In their room'
He had never done what she said, as any macho would always refuse, but while she had her hand on his dick, he was anticipating the pressure in his asshole as if they were in fact in their room.
There was something about this woman that made him want to throw away his pretenses and lay bare with her, more than skin exposed.
When the lights turned on again he was already leaving the room, dragging her out with him.