Vegeta & Bulma in The fast lane

Let the race begin

Let the race begin
It was a cold day in the French streets; the clouds seem dark & ominous. The 24 Hours of Le Mans were about to start. You could hear the cheers echoing up & down the streets, no matter the weather. A line of beautiful chrome sports cars looks like flying jets where whirling & burning to start like wolves ready to chase their prey. Bulma had her red racing gloves gripping to the wheel of her pride & joy ready to start. She saw the long row of lights change from red to yellow then like magic all the cars disappear in the distance. The crowd roar in excitement as the cars flew by. Bulma was in the lead, weaving in & out of the curved road that stretch in front of here. She knew this street like the back of her had winning previous titles before. She can practically drive this course in her sleep she whispered. She saw a slate blue bullet coming in to view of her rear view mirror. She's never seen this car before not even earlier in the day before the race while she was running some diagnostics on her car. The car was becoming annoying as it was on her tail following her every move. Yet she could not see inside for a glimpse of the driver. The windows of the blue beauty where mirror in the same color of the car. She dismisses the ordeal saying to herself that she was not going to let this person get around her.
After an hour of driving & getting lost in the purring of her car there was a voice over the radio. First in French then in English the announcer warned for the racers to come back or find shelter that the weather is going to be become more treacherous fast. Bulma scream "that's bullshit!" at the intercom. She got the intercom & radio to her team to where her coordinates were so they can tell her where to go. Then at last it happened, the slate blue bullet of a car ferociously passed her. Bulma's eyes exploded with rage. Did this person not hear the warnings? The voice of her father comes on the speakers of her car telling here where to go. She picked up the intercom & asked to see if anyone knew how to get ahold of the driver that blew right by her. Her father said he was going to patch her over. Hello? Hello? I don't know French; Bulma's voice was in his cabinet. A sharp raspy voice loudly said, "How the hell did you get in my car?" Bulma was taken back by his voice it sounded so venomous. But happy to know he spoke English. Hello she, said again, didn't you hear we have to stop driving? His voice echoed in her car "I don't give a dam! I'm finishing this race!" Bulma was furious that this guy had no sense & could end up killing himself. Then in her dearest sympathetic voice just said "please" then followed with "no one will be at the winning line." After what seemed to be hours of silence a few minutes a the less harsh voice came into her cabinet "where are you going to wait out the storm?" Bulma's sigh of relief filled his car. She told the stranger of an Inn, a half a mile, not too far from where they were. Then a harsh tone voice echoed in her care saying, "Fine." Bulma almost didn't see the small inn with the snow that covered the place like a blanket. But in relief yet hesitation to meet this mysterious man Bulma saw the blue car in the parking spot in front of the Inn. Bulma pulled next to the blue beauty, kinda jealous of the color. Her car was no doubt one of a kind but her mirror red chrome car seemed like a heap pile next to his.
Bulma walked in the quaint Inn & saw an elderly man approached the guest table. In French the man asked "comment puis-je vous aider?" (How can I help you?) Bulma's face flushed in white then red. French is such a romantic language. Bulma muster a sound out of her mouth, loudly "I have a reservation!" The older man had a question look on his face. Then when Bulma was going to try to ask again but louder as a dark mass came up beside her in a deep raspy voice "the man is not deft." Bulma's hair on arms roses up even with her jumpsuit that was made to tailor the temperature of her body. She gasped & quiver in his gaze. He turned to the man & asked "avez-vous une réservation pour..." (Do you have a reservation for...) he turned & gave a menacing look to Bulma. What's your name girl? Bulma exploded in her panties with Vegeta's eyes piercing at her, how dare this man that dared called her girl. If looks can kill, she will be sending daggers at him for calling her girl. My name is BULMA BRIEF, she exclaimed. The old man behind the counter coward as he could just pass a key to her & pointed to the left. She turned towards this mysterious yet handsome man. "What is your name," Bulma asked. His eyes tightened then with a sharp fast reply "Vegeta." Bulma said in a stern voice "no funny business Mr.," Vegeta scoffed, "I wouldn't get near you if my life depended on it."
They walk down the small hallway & she open the door to the room. It was quite large considering the outside of the place. I bet you this is more like a bed & breakfast & their hospitality was living upstairs. There was a king size bed in the center of the room that had a cute quilt that looked handmade. To the left a comfy loveseat & a small TV in front of it. More to the left she saw the bathroom & she could see there was white towels hanging on the tube made for two. "Why is everything in Franc romantic?!" Bulma is finding the temptation of this room & the stranger too risky. Vegeta was starting at her & she jerk her head in his direction "What?" Bulma explained. He asked, "You're not scared to be in a room with a stranger like me?" Bulma can felt her face turned hot, not so much of what he said but his skin tight jumper didn't leave much to the imagination. We both love the same thing & that's cars. There is a lot of hard work & determination in being a driver so you don't scare me. Bulma said sit on the bed, and I'll sit on the chair while I try to find out what's going on with the delay of the race. Vegeta was in no mood to argue, so he laid on the bed & unzip his jumpsuit just a little that with that sound made Bulma cream her panties again. "What the hell are you doing?" Bulma exclaimed. Vegeta was just about to close his eyes whipping up to say, "Trying to relax!" Bulma couldn't help but to wonder what else was he not hiding under that jumpsuit. Bulma held the phone to her ear & called her father. It was ringing for some time, but Bulma didn't notice, her eyes were locked on Vegeta's physique. His black hair was so devilishly whipped up like a flame. She focused on his face. It was as chiseled like it was made from marble. Then Bulma dared to look at him while one of his biceps caressed & cradled his head. She could see the muscles bulge though the fabric, his chest rising & falling in a hypnotic manor. She was drawn on the sound & temped to work her way to his groin. Hello, hello Bulma? Her father's frantic voice comes over the phone. D, Dad? Yes, dear are you ok? I, I'm ok. Bulma couldn't help but be ashamed that her dad was on the line while she was taking in Vegeta's delicious sculpted body. Um? Bulma's voice quiver.