A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed. I have to say honestly that this is the first piece of fanfiction that has been received so well. I will try to get Ch.3 up by the end of the week, maybe sooner if I find the free time. So please continue to read and enjoy.

Warning: For Mature Adults only.

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z belongs to Akira Toriyama

For the rest of the morning, she had been undisturbed. A good chunk of her new programs had finished compiling and were ready to be tested. It occurred to her to check the diagnostic for what may have been causing the gravity levels in the gravity room to fluctuate, but Vegeta could live without his precious room for a few more hours while she ran her own simulations. By the afternoon, however, she knew she could not put him off any longer.

As she ran her simulations her hair began to stand on end. Over the years, as her friends fought, they gave off enormous ki energies, none of which she could sense. With Goku and Vegeta, and for that matter Gohan, it was a bit different. When they were angry, she felt it. It was not in the way the others felt their power, no it was the electricity. Their power always caused her hair to stand on end, and this only happened when they were angry. So, if she did not tend to Vegeta somehow, he might wind up shorting her equipment. And if he did that, well he would probably not live to see tomorrow.

She grabbed her equipment, none of which she would actually need to repair the problem, and strolled outside. It was a warm, clear day, with a slight breeze that ruffled her hair. The gravity room was being tortured, she noticed as she came closer. Vegeta was never gentle with anything he did. If it was possible to cut a diamond with pure will, he would be the one to do it. Taking in a deep breath, she pounded on the entrance. The torturing paused.

"What is it?" The prince sounded rather annoyed.

"Hey, don't you take that tone with me, Vegeta! Do you want this thing fixed or not?" Not that she would fix it, but teasing him with the idea sounded an amusing prospect to her. She swore she could hear him fight with his temper, and his conscious barely won out. "That's more like it."

She was lucky her skills were necessary. But another diagnostic? He thought this woman was supposed to be intelligent, but apparently she was rather ordinary. She claimed the last diagnostic had found nothing wrong, so she was redoing it to make sure the first did not miss anything. The gravity was necessary for his training, and her ineptitude was almost too much to bear. No one made the Prince of all Saiyans wait.

Disciplining her might teach her some manners. He wanted to shove her against the wall and beat her until she knew her duty. Sadly, one solid punch could kill the weakling female, so he could never actually fulfill his wish. Although, there were other ways to make her scream.

The woman was wearing shorts today, ones that should never have been considered appropriate outwear. From his angle, he could see the curves of her milky buttocks poking from beneath the fabric. Yes, he thought, fucking her would solve many of my problems. He could imagine it now:

From where she knelt on the floor he would pull her up by the back of her shirt and bend her over the console, her ass sticking out and breasts swaying freely. Her clothes would remain only as long as he wished, and once he determined them unnecessary, they would fall to the floor in shreds. She would plead with him to stop, would make idle threats, would kick and bite, but he would just be all the more encouraged. He would grab a generous handful of each supple breast and tease her swollen lips with his desire. When she could barely stand it anymore, he would remove his clothing and bury himself deep within her and take her with all the force he wanted. She would scream and shout, and he would laugh all the while. As he came to his climax, he would spill himself over her back. And when she begged for release, he would simply smile and leave her in her dirtied state. Yes, she would know who her master was then.

He must have been smiling, because the woman gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you okay? You look happy, and that's never a good sign."

Crossing his arms, he blanked his face. "Hmph. Just thinking about the best way to kill Kakarot, is all. The sooner you finish, the sooner I will accomplish that goal." The woman breathed out a labored sigh and shook her head.

"Whatever you say. Well, I will go run this diagnostic. Have fun beating up the room while I'm gone." He watched her leave, and wished he had disciplined her when he had the chance.

Of course the second diagnostic would say nothing new. The first one had identified the gravity sensor as being out of alignment, and that would surely be the reason for the malfunction. Why should she fix it if Vegeta insisted on being an ass? Well, she would have to eventually. She could push it for the rest of the day, but by tomorrow she would have to fix it. Otherwise there was likely to be a fist-sized imprint in all of her projects. Or in her.

Vegeta liked to make threats about killing her or those she knew, but she knew he could not do so…for the time being, anyway. Being friends with Goku had its perks, and until that lunk-headed prince found a way to become a super Saiyan, she was untouchable. But her projects were another matter entirely. Too much time and effort had been spent on them to be ruined now. So, she had to bend to the ass's will in the end. Damned if she wouldn't make him work for it, though.

For the next several hours, Bulma worked diligently on the calibration data her father's military technology branch had sent her. Several of the experimental aircraft were experiencing time lags and circuitry connectivity issues. The calibration data indicated problems, but few issues were caused by the same thing. So, it took her awhile to sort everything out. Finally, around five o'clock, she leaned back in her chair and called it a day for that data.

She imagined the Saiyan would be getting hungry any minute now, and with his temperament today she had better have dinner for him or he might just blow something up. The issue was, she was a terrible cook. Oh, yes, she could cook well enough for herself, but few people could call what she ate edible. Her mother had prepared a week's worth of food for an army, but she still had to heat it up. Well, how hard could it be?

Scrounging around the refrigerator found her a hearty stew. Easy enough, just pour into the pot and heat until hot. As soon as she started warming the stew, the prince arrived. She wondered if it was just good timing, or that acute nose of his. Whichever it was, he was there and very impatient to start eating.

"Is my food ready yet?" He never asked questions, he demanded answers.

"Just a few minutes. Have a seat and be patient." She turned back to the stew and stirred slowly.

"A few minutes is too long to wait. I shall have to eat something else while I am deprived of food." Odd, but whatever. There was plenty of food in the kitchen, so he might as well help hims---! A rough hand reached around her and grabbed her breast, tweaking the nipple and holding her from moving elsewhere. "You will do nicely." Lips found her neck and a wet tongue traced up her spine and around her jaw. She heard a loud ripping and found her shirt on the floor in two pieces.

"What the hell do you—" The other hand covered her mouth and pulled her against the hardened body.

"Sit on the counter," he commanded as he lifted her up to the cold, tiled surface. The prince definitely looked hungry, but she was certain it was not food he was after. Fortunately, he spared the remainder of her clothing and let her slip in off hurriedly. With her body now bare, he cupped one breast and suckled the other, his tongue playing delicately over the rosy nipple. As he sucked he elicited a sharp moan from her lips. He continued more voraciously, the other hand moving across the plane of her stomach to the soft curls below.

He teased the heated entrance with one finger, grazing the sensitive spot with a devilish intent. She would not let the bastard win. She would not beg. But the grazing became all that she felt and her body ached for more. When he added a slight bit more pressure, she screamed and he laughed. That seemed an adequate submission, as he pressed a finger inside to delve between her slick folds. He worked slowly at first, but increased his speed. His mouth followed the same trail his hand had followed and he was now staring into her.

She tried to close her legs in embarrassment, but he would have nothing of it. Removing his hand, he spread her thighs and breathed in deeply. His tongue snaked along her inner thigh and teased the outer lips. Finally, he found her core and began to have his fill. The faster he fed, the faster she slipped into ecstasy. She was close, she could fill the pressure building, she—

"WOMAN, I said is my food ready?" The agitated Saiyan stood many feet away from her, arms crossed. She glanced at the pot and saw it bubbling. A slightly acrid smell was coming from it, meaning she must have burnt the bottom. Oh well, he would never notice anyway. That would teach her not to daydream while cooking.

"Yes, now sit down while I serve it." Not so much a courtesy for him, but a convenience for her: if she just let him serve himself, she would never get any.

As she watched the Saiyan eat, and he was a much neater diner than Goku ever was, she could not help but wonder why her body chose him as the vessel of all her pleasure. He was the only single, handsome man around her these days, so maybe her brain was just settling for the closest thing around. But she wondered: If it were simply that, then why was her body aching to be used? She had a terrible feeling this was not the end of her body's need for the Saiyan prince.

A/N: So, this chapter was slightly shorter than the first, but more condensed with the naughty. Please review and as I said above I will hopefully have the third chapter up by weeks end. Things are only going to go uphill from here.