Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ.

Warning: So naughty you probably shouldn't read it even if you are an adult.

A/N: For those of you following my WIPs under my other pen name. Yeah, I know. I suck. I give you porn in contrition.

Unspoken

Lord Vegeta Breigh, Crown Prince of Vegeta-sei, son of King Vegeta and Queen Saba, heir to the Seven Moons of Ozarus, holder of the keys of the Halls of Fate and Destiny had never in his thirty-three years of life been touched in kindness.

Incubated in a synthetic womb, born into the hands of nursemaids, presented only on festival days to his illustrious parents, he'd never been held in love.

Enslaved by the Ice-jinn Empire at the age of seven, the indifferent touches of servants disappeared, replaced with the violence of training and discipline.

Prince Vegeta had been struck, kicked, stabbed, and on one memorable occasion, electrocuted, but never patted, caressed or even had his hand held.

In return Vegeta had struck, kicked, stabbed, and once set fire to an unlucky fool, but never patted, never caressed, never touched with kindness.

Sex for Vegeta was a violent affair driven by pain and degradation, worsened by his affliction. Immersed in pain his entire life, Vegeta came to realize early on that skin on skin contact with another caused his nerves to flare and his muscles to contract. It pained him to be touched, his body reacting much the same as when he'd been electrocuted.

Which explained why he remained completely clothed during intercourse, releasing only his cock and finding his biologically driven release as quickly as possible.

It didn't explain why he pinned this particular piece of luscious, naked female flesh beneath him, one hand trapping her wrists above her head while his other hand brushed away the cascade of aqua hair from her breasts. His gloved hand lingering to pinch her nipples until they turned from a pretty pale pink to a lurid swollen red.

When she bucked her hips, mewling little cries begging for more, he soothed his hand down the pale expanse of her soft belly to slide between her legs. Gently. More gently than he'd ever touched another living creature, because the skin there was exquisitely delicate, and even though the white leather of his gloves were expensively supple, he didn't want to risk hurting her. Risk anything to dry up the sweet honey that dripped from her. Honey that dripped because he caressed and petted, not because he slapped and spanked.

Somehow his touches made her hotter and wetter than any female he had before, and somehow that slick heat of hers had enthralled him. Enslaved him more effectively than any Icejinn rule. Because while he had no choice to be Frieza's slave, here he had a choice. He could walk away at any time, and no matter how often he promised himself he would, the next night would find him standing over her bed, awakening her with a smooth glide of his gloved hand over her naked skin.

They never spoke. That she hadn't donned sleeping raiment since their first night was consent enough.

She willingly took him however she could, and that female acquiescence alone triggered a primal male need to give her more.

Hence the touching, the petting, the long leisurely caresses, and as he stared down at her, watching her arching to offer her pale, red-tipped breasts while she rode his fingers, an overwhelming desire to bend down and take her pouting, needy nipple in his mouth nearly buckled his knees.

Giving into temptation, he flicked his tongue over her nipple, almost too quick to get a taste, yet her breath stuttered, encouraging him on. Overwhelmed with the need to give her more, everything she could ever need, he suckled, nearly losing his newest treat when she arched hard with a ragged cry.

She ground down on his palm, coming hard around the three fingers deep inside her.

When she sank boneless and panting amid her sapphire silk sheets, her flushed skin gleaming in the moonlight, he jerked open his uniform just enough to release his cock, hard and heavy in his hand.

Hunger darkened her eyes as she scrambled to her hands and knees, the position he insisted on so he could take her like an animal with as minimal contact as possible.

He lost the vision of her lurid nipples and her wet cunt, and an old familiar anger surged inside him. Anger at being denied his birthright, the luxury of freedom, the tenderness of touch.

With a rough hand on her softly rounded hip, he flipped her onto her back, ignoring her flared eyes as he nudged her thighs wide, revealing her perfect, drenched cunt.

Desire swelled, temping him to lean down and steal a taste, to see if she was as sweet as she smelled.

Anxiety held him back from what he wanted, forcing him to grab her by the arches of her feet and position her bent legs wide so he could kneel between her thighs without touching her. She planted her feet, pink manicured toes curling into the sheets.

The sibilant sound she made sounded like consent and for once he wished she'd speak. Say yes or please or better yet, Vegeta. But like him, she never spoke, not here, not now.

In the harsh light of day, he couldn't shut her up. Complaint after complaint lobbed at him for his mistreatment of her precious training equipment or her employees. Oddly, she never complained of his treatment of her. Maybe because beyond curt demands, he didn't engage her.

For all her complaints, nary a word was spoken between them of how they spent their evenings. It was almost as if they existed outside a moment of time. Their own decadent dimensional pocket where anything went.

Maybe even him using his mouth on her if he dared.

She reached for him and he tensed. The sex-satisfied curl of her lips disappeared as he gathered her wrists. She didn't fight him when he pinned her again. She didn't regain her smile either.

Another look lighted her eyes. A challenge issued, but not accepted. Vegeta knew better. Give the woman an inch she'd take a mile.

He pressed forward, and she arched up, eyes gleaming with mischief as his cock tunneled through her wet lips instead of pushing inside.

With her hips she controlled the wet kiss of her cunt on the underside of his cock. His eyes rolled back, convinced he could come with just a few more rolls of her wicked-clever hips.

The idea of striping her white belly with his cum appealed to him. He could rub it into her skin, marking her with his essence and scent.

But that would require taking off his gloves and he wouldn't do that.

Couldn't do that.

Rearing back, he fisted his cock, and with a single deliberate stroke he feed himself into her. Angled up he watched her greedy cunt take him inside, swallowing him body and soul.

A shiver danced across his nape, and he looked up. She was curled with her shoulders off the bed, watching him slowly push inside her, face strained and needy, white teeth pressed into her plump pink lip, and he wanted to lean in and take a bite.

With a grunt he seated himself until the fabric of his uniform rubbed her clit, creating a wet spot that would smell of her long after it dried. He'd put off washing his uniform for as long as possible to keep her sweet scent to himself.

Waiting until he had her eyes, he reared back and fucked into her hard, rocking the bed against the wall.

With every forceful thrust, her white breasts jiggled, snaring his gaze. Unable to resist, he released her hands, cupping her breasts and flicking her thumbs over the hard tips.

Obeying his unspoken command, she kept her hands above her head, tangling her fingers in the white, wrought-iron headboard. To reward her, he fucked her harder, prying sharp whimpers from deep inside her throat.

Sweat gathered along the base of his spine, sensitizing his overheated flesh, urging him to shed his clothing entirely. His uniform stuck to his skin, irritating the circular scar centered over his flexing buttocks.

He longed to be naked, sliding his hard body against her soft one, slathering her with his scent so every male would know who she took to her bed nightly. Who claimed her.

Again he damned himself for being defective. Life had damaged him, stealing pleasures he'd never be able to indulge in.

He wanted to luxuriate in her silky skin, feel her soft breasts flatten against his chest, the rub of her nipples against his.

He wanted to sink down upon her and revel in her long limbs twining around him, pulling him close, urging him on.

Her thighs tightened around his plunging hips and his nerves screamed at him to jerk away, but her cunt was convulsing on his cock and couldn't bring himself to disappoint her. His body worked for her pleasure. She ached and he was driven to satisfy her, regardless of the pain to himself.

He thrust harder, faster, his balls drawing up tight before the exquisite burn rushed down his spine and out his cock.

She writhed beneath him, and through his own haze of ecstasy he watched her mouth work. He waited...waited. The pain of desperate expectation burning more intensely than his orgasm.

Nothing. No, yes. No, please. Never, Vegeta.

He drew out, leaving her panting and spent, his seed sliding down her slender thighs. Staring down at her with dispassionate eyes, he tucked himself back into his pants.

He watched her haze clear, her frantic breaths ease. He watched the challenge light in her eyes and her mouth press flat.

She knew he wanted words, but she wouldn't give them. Not until she had what she wanted in return. Never mind he'd relented some this night.

Give her and inch, she'd demanded a mile, without ever speaking a word.

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He could smell her as he trained. Her cum stained his gloves, tantalizing him with her scent as he flowed through his katas.

He'd harmed many beings in his time. Murdered them mostly, but sometimes he'd hurt creatures just to hurt them. Just to hear them squeal or watch them writhe.

It was cruelty, he supposed. The woman would say so, yet it wasn't like the creatures he hurt were innocent. They'd been just as malicious as he.

The innocent he murdered quickly. It wasn't as if he didn't have the stomach for torture. His cruelty to his enemies was legendary. No, it was merely a matter of expedience. Why tarry with a creature when torture had no purpose?

The rape and torture on the battlefield held no appeal merely because he didn't have the time for it. There was training to be had or other worlds to be purged. Time spent otherwise was wasteful.

He'd be lying if he said he never hurt people off the battlefield.

That he didn't hurt women.

Those women had been paid generously to take his blows, his slaps, and his whippings.

A man who had only received pain from touch only knew how to give pain back.

Until her.

He couldn't abide striping her alabaster skin with a whip marks or bruising her with his touch. She was so fragile. The most delicate, beautiful creature he'd ever seen in all of his expansive travels. The thought of hurting her made his skin burn like the day he'd been electrocuted.

He'd known the moment he set eyes on her that she was different. That she'd change his very existence. He tried to ignore her, belittle her, drive her off. But here, in her home, seeing her every day, tortured by her scent lingering in the halls, he was powerless to resist her allure.

And after having her, he didn't want to.

He wanted her again and again, but he knew every time he visited her bed he hurt her. Not physically, never physically, yet every time he refused to hold her, touch her, let her hold him tight, she cried.

Never openly. She was too strong a woman to reveal her emotions openly, but he could see it in those hungry eyes of hers.

She deserved a man who could hold her.

The thought maddened him, but he couldn't deny its validity. She deserved a better man than he.

Instead of realizing that, she issued silent challenges, and every time he didn't meet them, she broke just a little more.

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She wasn't in her room. The moonlight shifted over her empty bed. Sinking into the shadows, he waited.

She tottered in smelling of cigarette smoke and other males. Drunk, she didn't turn on the light as she stripped off her skintight party dress, kicking her stilettoes toward the dark corner where he waited.

When she was naked, he lunged. She squeaked, whirling around to attack. He blocked her blow, grabbing her wrist to jerk her off balance. She fell towards him, but he dodged, only his grip keeping her upright.

Ignoring her growls of protest, he towed her to the shower, shoving her inside after it warmed. He thrust a washcloth and her melon-scented body wash into her arms in a wordless command to wash.

He wanted the other men off her. Undressed he could tell she hadn't taken another male between her thighs, but men had touched her, rubbed against her on the dance floor, touched what was his.

She looked at the green bottle and the white washcloth, then notched that stubborn chin of hers, challenge a bonfire in her blue eyes.

He met her challenge with dead eyes. He wouldn't relent and she'd be punished for her defiance.

Her full mouth firmed as she looked straight into his eyes and deliberately dropped the items.

The washcloth fell to her feet with a wet plop, the bottle with a loud clatter, an aural challenge thrown down between them when words were disdained.

That she dared defy him sent a shaft of white hot anger through him, hardening his cock painfully.

Grabbing the shampoo off the shelf, he spun off the cap and dumped half the bottle over her head. The scent of coconuts assaulted him, along with her screech. He ignored her struggles as he spun her toward the wall, and roughly scrubbed her down with his hands.

Instead of her sweet honey, now his gloves would stink like a fucking tropical beach. Gritting his teeth, jaw flexing, his anger made him unusually rough with her.

She squirmed, but didn't try to get away. She arched into his touch, thrusting out her spectacularly rounded ass, and he couldn't help but to cup her between the legs from behind, fingertips sliding inside her.

Even through his leather glove her heat seeped into him, tugging him deeper, begging him for more.

In a soapy slide, his other hand glided over the hourglass dip of her waist. Cupping her soft breast, he pinched her turgid nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging hard.

She moaned, the sound loud over the rushing water, and rocked back into him.

Fuck him and the seven moons, she liked that. If the drenching of his glove was anything to go by, she liked it a lot.

The melon scented body wash rolled into his foot, reminding him she still needed to be punished for her defiance.

He wrenched the detachable shower head off the wall, using it to rinse her without mercy, ignoring her sputters as soap and water cascaded over her mouth and nose. As she coughed out water, he slid one hand around her throat, holding her in a possessive grip that she didn't try to fight.

Flipping the shower head on pulse, he thrust it between her legs. With a strangled cry she arched, trying to escape the relentless stream of warm water on her clit. He trapped her against the wall with his body, letting her take solace in the hard length of him against her back while he forced her orgasm onto her.

When it hit, her scream ricocheted around the natural, stone-cut walls of her shower.

He showed no mercy when she slumped exhausted against him. It served him to have her half blinded and reliant on him like a baby hawk in tresses. Still sopping wet, he guided her with a hand at the back of her neck to her bedroom.

He bent her over the bed, head down, palms flat on the mattress, heels kicked apart.

The perfect submissive pose to receiving a whipping to her ass and thighs. His entire body tightened with denied lust at the explicit tableau she presented.

He didn't dare lay hands on the woman before him. Even an open handed spank from a man of his strength could harm her, at the very least bruise her, and using a belt from the collection hanging from her closet door was absolutely out of the question no matter how pretty her white skin would look with pink lashes.

His indecision lasted too long and she mewled with frustration. His body reacted on a visceral level. His woman's dissatisfaction urged him to see to her before another male could horn in on what was his.

His hands wouldn't do, but his gloves would. The leather was too soft to do any real harm, and no matter how hard he brought them down on her disobedient little ass, they would only sting her.

At the soft shushing sound as he peeled off the gloves, she turned her head, eyes widening and lips parting at the sight of his bare hands.

He growled in reprimand, bringing the leather down on the outside of her hip. She squeaked, jumping away. His free hand curled into a fist with the urge to grab her hip and reposition her, but without the protective leather he was incapable of touching her.

No, he had to issue the demand with his eyes. A silent challenge daring her to take what he gave her.

He brought the gloves down on her other hip. She jumped slightly, but took it without protest, dropping her head between her arms in consent.

Primal satisfaction ripped through him so great he wanted to tip his head back and roar his claim over her to mother moon.

He brought the gloves down over her flesh, pinking her lush little ass and slender thighs. Sweat beaded her back, tempting him to lean over and lap it up with long, languorous lick. The dimples at the bottom of her spine, right above her ass, glistened in the moonlight, daring him to dip his tongue into them and taste the water trapped there.

Taking a deep breath, he laid his bare hand on her naked back, spreading his fingers wide to feel as much of her satin skin as possible. At the same time, he flicked his gloves between her legs in a stinging slap.

The moan that ripped from her raw throat was louder than any that came before. Her thighs quaked with the strength of her orgasm.

He wondered if his touch had any bearing on its intensity.

It certainly affected him.

Electricity shot up his arm, originating at every contact point of his skin against hers. He expected it to burn, instead it set all his nerve endings alight with pleasure.

His skin, a shivering glove of ecstasy from head to toe, tingled with long denied pleasure. He balls drew up tight, his cock weeping and ready, until he nearly shot in his pants.

Just from touching that small patch of skin on her lower back. Instantly, he wanted to mark her there, brand her with his ownership with the Vegeta-sei royal symbol.

Mark her and own her for eternity.

He rushed to free his cock, shoving into her so hard, her knees buckled onto the mattress. Grabbing her hips so she couldn't get away, he fucked his cock into her tight cunt. She moaned as his fingers dug into her.

Encouraged, he slid one bare hand up her back to her shoulder.

"Yes."

His hips stuttered, nearly losing their rhythm.

Reward by her single word, his hands roamed her back, exploring every silken inch and setting himself on fire. It became nearly unbearable to keep touching her, but her moans and whimpers egged him on, driving him forward until finally her wet pussy clutched him, convulsing and pulling his orgasm out of him.

At the last moment he pulled out, striping her back with his hot cum. His teeth glittered white in the shadows as he rubbed it into her flesh with his bare hands. He paid special attention to the span between her dimples, drawing the Vegeta-sei symbol on her back in his cum.

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The power shut down in the training room and she strolled in wearing gray overalls and expression usually only present at night.

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her to fuck off. This wasn't their time, their realm, but challenge lit her eyes, silencing him as if it were after dusk.

Chin notched high, she unzipped her overalls, shrugging them off. His mouth went dry, eyes hungrily roaming over the expanse of her naked skin, so pale it glowed ethereally in the artificial light.

He hadn't taken her outside of moonlight before. Never had the luxury of perusing her every perfection.

He supposed she had flaws, but he couldn't see them. Her full breasts taunted him, their pouty, pink nipples tilted slightly upward. Her long graceful limbs, the thatch of aqua curls between her legs.

Perfection, all of it.

She sauntered up to him and dropped to her knees at his feet. Everything inside him drew up tight, his cock coming to an instant salute.

She reached for his training shorts, jerking them down before he could stop her. His cock sprang up, more than ready to receive what she was offering.

He fisted his hand in her silky hair, stopping her from claiming her prize, arching her back and neck so that her crimson lips, shiny from her tongue, were parted.

This was an act he never permitted. It left him too vulnerable. He liked his women pinned down where he could hold their arms or better yet from behind so he could see their every move. Long ago he learned to never open himself to an attack, especially during the most intimate of acts.

She strained against his grip, her tongue swiping against the ruddy head of his cock. He shuddered, his fingers loosening in her hair so they caressed instead of restrained. He could stop her of course. He was bigger and stronger than her. But he was weak against her will, the flame of her desire. And, yay gods, he wanted her. Wanted her mouth upon him. Wanted her beneath him, astride him, all around him in every manner imaginable.

"Please." She licked her lips and he was nearly undone.

My woman should never have to beg for anything. Her desires should be met before they were glimmer in her mind.

His hand fell away, watching with fascination as she swallowed him.

Fuck Oozuro's Profit. Her mouth was hot and wet. The only thing better was being buried in her tight cunt.

Her tongue licked over the ruddy head of his cock and his head dropped back on his neck. He gazed at the metal support struts latticing the celling of the training room, knowing keen disappointment that it wasn't the stars and moons over Vegeta-sei.

Dipping his head, he was enthralled with the picture she made kneeling at his feet. Luminous blue eyes and shiny red lipstick.

She took him deep, leaving a crimson ring around the base of his cock that he never wanted to wash off.

Her brand on him, marking him as hers.

When she looked up at him with her beautiful eyes, as deep and mysterious as the ocean he was helpless not to touch her.

Addicted to her special kind of burn, he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, plunging his bare hands into her silky hair. He had wondered at its texture, and now he knew his imaginings weren't even close to the truth. The heavy, silken mass wound its ways around his fingers like it owned him.

Somehow, having his hands buried in her hair felt more illicit and intimate than if they were completely naked.

He wouldn't finish in her mouth, tempting though it may be. He needed to be in her tight heat.

But how? On her hands and knees? Even now he rebelled against her kneeling on the hard floor. With a hand at her elbow, he hauled her onto her feet, gasping as his aching cock fell from her mouth.

Face to face, eyes on her swollen lips, wet with his precum and her spit, all he could think of was the night he took her, thrusting between her thighs, looking her in the eye as she came apart around his cock.

He could do that again. Lay her down on the floor, spread her legs and plunge inside her. Take his pleasure while the cold steel floor chilled her perfect flesh until she was shivering with something other than ecstasy.

No, that wouldn't do either. Drawing her close, cupping her luscious ass in his palms, he boosted her up. Natural instinct had her twining those long legs of hers around his hips, her arms about his neck.

The astonishment on her face nearly made the sudden onset of claustrophobia worth her touch, but it was the erotic pleasure of sinking into her wet heat, while drowning in her eyes that banished his unease.

Not completely, but bearably.

In two steps he had them against the wall. To keep her safe from the chill he had to wrap his arms around her back, sheltering her deep in his body.

She acquiesced to his embrace with a hitch and a sigh, the feminine submission driving him to give her more. He wanted to tear off his shirt so when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders it was only his skin she felt. He wanted to feel her hard, red nipples dragging against his bare chest as he fucked into her.

Unable to take what he so desperately wanted, he fucked her furiously, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in her shoulder when he came with a roar.

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He watched her now. Continuously. Relentlessly.

He wanted her.

Needed her.

Yet he denied himself. He gave her too much and now she wanted everything. He could see it in her eyes. Those mysterious, enchanting windows to her soul that demanded he be a better man.

Something he could never do, not even for her. He was too damaged. Too violent. He knew only pain. Only how to give and receive it.

Yet, she found pleasure in his touch.

Could he find pleasure in hers?

Staring down at her while she slept, blankets thrown aside, naked in welcome, even though he hadn't visited her in days, he thought he might be able to overcome his affliction.

When she opened her eyes to stare up at him, her gaze dark with challenge, he knew he could overcome anything for her.

Deliberately, he tugged the ties of his shirt loose, taking an unnatural glee in the widening of her eyes. Never had he experienced such happiness as he did when pleasing her. Not on his name day. Not on days he was presented to his father. Not even when Frieze put him down like a rabid animal on Namek and his suffering finally came to an end.

Chest bare, his hands hovered over the fly of his jeans. Her eyes lifted to his. He expected challenge. Instead, he saw understanding. Maybe pity? She raised her hand, welcoming him to her bed any way she could have him.

He would not have his woman pity him. He wouldn't allow her to lower herself to accept a pitiable, broken male to her bed. As a queen she deserved more. She deserved everything he could be.

He kicked his jeans off, smirking at the shock suffusing her face. Her legs parted as he crawled over her until she was caged beneath him. Hands hovering over his chest, she shot him a questioning glance. When he didn't move to pin her wrists, she slowly, with such deliberate care that it nearly broke something inside him, pressed her palms to his bare chest.

His hissed inhalation was masked by the sibilant moan from her lips. "Yes," she chanted, writhing with pleasure at just touching him.

Reacting on instinct, he dipped to the side, pulling her up so she draped over him, giving her free rein to every inch of him. Like a warrior, she pressed the advantage, sliding her hands over the hills and grooves of his body, memorizing them as if she would never have another chance to touch him unfettered.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes on her face to ground himself to the moment. He feared that if he lost himself, allowed the panic and feral instinct to overwhelm him, he would lash out and hurt her irreparably. Vegeta could live with his many sins, but never with harming her. So he watched her face, the mosaic of wonder and awe that flowed through her and into him. She calmed the raging in his soul, soothed the burning of his skin with every sweep of her hand.

He reared up, wrapping his arms around her back so she could never escape him. His hard dick furrowed between her pussy lips, the swollen vein on the underside of his cock pulsing against her clit in the same rhythm as his frantically beating heart.

Seated in his lap, her face rose a few inches above his, allowing her to stare into his eyes, the intensity of her look making him want to slink away into some dark corner where monsters like him deserved to live.

She cupped his face in her palms and he nearly screamed in the agony of it. He hid his pain as he always did, behind a dispassionate mask and damning eyes. She leaned forward, and he panicked, knowing she wanted to press her petal-soft lips to his.

He thrust his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet honey scent. Her hands bunched in his long spikes of hair, trying and failing to pull him away so she could bestow her soul-giving kiss on him.

"Please," she begged, and he broke inside.

She should never have to beg, but this he could not give her. It was beyond his power. Beyond his strength.

Try as he might, he could not completely overcome himself for her.

Clutching her tight until her breath stuttered, he lifted her up, reveling in the slip and slide of her breasts against his chest, and plunged into her, driving all her desire to feel her lips on his out of her mind.

Hands on her hips, nearly encircling her waist, he fucked her perfect, wet cunt. Her hands curled over his shoulders, her sharp nails digging into him, balancing the pain and pleasure. He thrust into her, the head of his cock hitting places he never touched before. She threw her head back, the cascade of her long blue hair brushing over his thighs.

Her nipples were red and abraded from rubbing against his chest, and he took one in his mouth, tasting the salt from his body on her. Satisfied that he covered her in all ways, coated in his sweat and soon his cum, he owned her, like she owned him. He sucked hard, and she screamed, her cunt clamping down on his dick until he thought he might never be able to separate himself from her.

And for a moment, while he emptied himself into her convulsing pussy, he violently wished that he would never have to leave her. He could be cursed to be frozen in this moment for eternity, every agonized inch of him, wrapped around every delighted inch of her, and he'd be utterly, unendingly happy.

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Nothing changed.

They fought during the day and fucked at night.

They didn't talk. She didn't talk. Didn't engage in that overly emotional bullcrap females tended toward when you stuck your dick in them.

She accepted him as is.

Even the lack of his kisses.

As much as it pained her. Hurt her. Devastated her. She accepted his lack of kisses.

The woman didn't cling. Didn't know the meaning of it. Fiercely independent, intelligent, creative, and more arrogant than a bevy of overly confident S.O.B.s such as himself, it became clear…She Didn't Need Him.

Watching her on the veranda, surrounded by urbane sophisticates who leered down the bodice of her Vera Wang maxi dress, printed with fanciful butterflies of all things, during some society luncheon her bird-brained mother insisted on, Vegeta felt he might be the clingy one.

All he wanted to do was storm over, scatter her bloodless admirers, and claim her as his, the worthiest female on the planet.

Then it occurred to him, that he, Lord Vegeta Breigh, Crown Prince of Vegeta-sei, son of King Vegeta and Queen Saba, heir to the Seven Moons of Ozarus, holder of the keys of the Halls of Fate and Destiny had every right to claim her whenever, wherever he pleased.

The women squealed as he passed. The men lost all color to their faces. But when the woman turned to watch him crash through the crowd like the force of nature he was, hair sparking gold, blue lightning arcing off his body, she merely smiled––that mysterious curling at the corners of her lips that challenged any brave enough to uncover all her secrets and embrace her as she was.

As Vegeta halted in front of her, loosing himself in the depthless ocean of her eyes, he knew that a lifetime would never be enough to uncover all her mysteries, but he was more than up to the challenge.

He palmed her nape, pulling her soft body into his hard one. As always she acquiesced to him, prompting the beast inside to roar and beat its chest.

He leaned close, so there would be no mistaking his intent, the crowd vanishing at the edges as they submersed into their personal domain.

"Mine," he whispered, his breath a caress on her lips.

The smile she gifted him was bright enough to banish most of the darkness in his soul. Her words demolished the rest.

"Yes, please, Vegeta."

The deep, soul licking kiss they shared announced to all and sundry that they claimed each other, the words they spoke unnecessary in the face of their wordless devotion.