Chapter Five
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . .
Vegeta's nose came close to the metal floor as he did his warm up push ups for the day's training. He couldn't concentrate. That damned woman hadn't come back yet. The brat's were starting to get worried. He and Trunks had gotten into a fight about it this morning. Bra had stared at them disapprovingly—like her mother—but had taken Trunks' side. It looked like he'd pushed her too far.
He stopped and sat on the floor, feeling the weight of 500 G's on his body. He pulled his knees up and placed a hand on his temple. Damn, he'd pushed her too far.
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Before . . . .
Vegeta growled to himself as he heard the gravity machine power down automatically as the door opened. He spun around. "What, woman?" he demanded.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes determined. "Vegeta, you've been in here all day. It's time to eat."
"Eat? Woman, I'm not hungry. Go away. I have to train," he said dismissing her. He levitated down to the floor and stared doing his push ups.
He heard her footsteps draw close to him. Her feet appeared right in front of his face. "Vegeta, you need to rest. You can train tomorrow."
He ignored her.
"Vegeta," she said, her voice impatient. She began to pull on him, trying to make him get up. Her feeble hands wrapped themselves around his arm, pulling him.
"Damn woman, leave me alone," he muttered.
"Nope. I'm not going to leave you alone until you come inside the house."
He cursed to himself as he got up from the floor. "Fine," he mumbled.
She led him out the door and then capsuled the gravity machine.
"Woman, what the hell did you do that for? It's not like anyone's going to steal it," he said angry.
"It's for your own good. I don't want to find you training in the middle of the night," she said walking to the kitchen.
He marched after her, supremely irritated. What the hell was her problem? He sat down at the table and glared at her back as she made his dinner. She placed it in front of him and he ate it, barely tasting a thing. She just stared at him silently, watching him eat.
"Woman, do you have a problem?" he asked her after he was done.
"No," she replied.
Earth women—he was never going to understand them. Getting up from the table, he went to his room to grab some clean clothes so he could shower. She stayed in the kitchen, her gaze on the table. He took a quick shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water as it streamed down his body. He toweled off and threw on his clothes.
Entering his room, he found the woman there already, covers drawn over her small body. She lay on her left side, her fists drawn up to her chest, not sleeping. He stifled a sigh and climbed in next to her, his back to her front. He was use to her sleeping in his bed, but he felt like there was no where he could be by himself, not even his own room. He felt the weight of the bed shift as she moved over. She placed her chin on his shoulder and drew her right arm in front of him, over his chest. He could feel her gaze on him again.
"Vegeta?" she whispered. "Do you love me?"
His eyes shot open and he almost fell out of the bed. Where the hell did that question come from? He turned his body so he could look at her. She looked at him, her eyes wanting and answer, hoping for a yes. He couldn't bring himself to tell her anything; he didn't know. Love? Saiyan's didn't love; they bonded. There was no word for love in the Saiyan dictionary. He looked at her, confused, not knowing what to say, unable to say anything at all.
She crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. She leaned forward and touched his lips with hers, a fluttering kiss. She pulled away and looked deep into his eyes, searching for the answer. She seemed satisfied with what she saw because she kissed him again, deeper and more passionate. He could feel his body start to respond to her, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close to deepen the kiss. His eyes closed; his mouth savored her taste. His mind spiraled in confusion, unsure of what was happening, but wanting it to go on. It was an unreal sensation for him.
She began to run her hands up and down his body, gently caressing him. She put her hands under his shirt and pushed up, her hands moving the shirt upwards to his shoulders. He obliged her, tearing his shirt off. She pulled back a little and stared at him.
"Do you like what you see?" he asked her, his voice rough.
She licked her lips and kissed him again.
Damn woman. He could feel her heat coming from her body. She kissed him down his face, along his neck, and down his chest. Her hands went to the hem of his pants and began to pull on them gently. She pulled his pants off and dropped them to the floor. She straddled his waist again, nothing between them but his boxers and her clothes. He was beginning to think that was pretty damned unfair.
He sat up suddenly, pushing his hands under her shirt and pulling it up. She lifted her arms and he pulled the shirt off and discarded it on the floor. He was about to start on her bottom, but she pushed him down and assaulted his lips with hers. She pulled away from him suddenly, totally disengaging their bodies. He stifled a protest as she climbed off the bed. She tucked her thumbs into the hem of her pants and pushed them down, along with her underwear. His eyes danced over her body, taking in every inch of her supple skin. She came to the edge of the bed, leaned down, and grabbed the hem of his boxers. She tugged on them roughly until they lay at her feet on the floor.
She straddled him again, skin to skin. He shuddered as he felt her warm body against him, feeling the blood pumping through her veins. She leaned forward, her hair falling next to his face. "I want you," she said in a low seductive voice.
He flipped her suddenly, hearing her squeak as he she hit the bed. He pressed his body to hers, feelings her melt beneath him. He placed strategic kisses along her neckline. She moaned against him, tangling her hands in his hair. He assaulted her body with kisses and caresses, touching everywhere. He came back to her face and stared into her blue eyes. She looked back at him, her gaze steady and sure. She nodded slightly at him and closed her eyes as he began to push into her. She grabbed the bed sheets next to them and clenched her teeth. He felt her stomach tighten as he pushed into her fully. He continued to stare down at her, burning her face into his memory.
He felt her relax. Her eyes opened and she looked into his eyes again. She kissed him lightly and wrapped her legs around him. He began to move, setting up a nice pace for both of them. She ran her hands down his back and began to prod the spot where his tail used to be. He groaned and his tempo sped up. His hands began to roam over her body, roughly running over her skin. He pulled her arms and hands from their task, placing them over her head. He pushed further, a slight sweat starting to form over his skin. He brought her torso to his, savagely kissing her face and lips. He could feel himself coming to an edge, knowing he was going to fall over, and enjoying it.
He clenched his teeth and moved faster, listening to her shortened breaths. He felt it suddenly, and bit down deeply into her neck. She cried out, crossing the edge too, and clung to him as her body spasmed. He lapped at her blood as their bodies began to calm and cool down.
He heard her breathing become deeper and steadier. Her arms loosened around him, but didn't let go. He pushed her back down onto the bed and withdrew from her. She laid there, her head on the pillow, smiling at him contentedly. Her face glowed. He stared at her, taking account of everything that had just happened. He noticed the mark he'd left on her, claiming her as his own. Well, if he had second thoughts now they just went out the door. There was no way he could take back the mark; it was permanent, telling the world that she belonged to him . . . and he to her. She could—if she wanted—break it off with him, but he could mate with no one but her until she died.
He lay down next to her, letting the ramifications fall across his mind. He'd have to live with this woman for the rest of her life, protecting her from any and all, and if he got any brats out of this, he'd have to protect them too. He would have to remain faithful to her throughout her life, never harming her if she were not as true.
She, in turn, would demand his time and his love'—whatever that was. She would accept everything he was obliged to give her, but she would demand more of him, his affections. Affections? Yeah, right. He couldn't see himself being like her second to last boyfriend, Yamcha. Kissing, touching, holding hands in public—no way. He could possibly do that when they were alone, but no other time. She'd have to accept that.
He felt her move and curl herself around his body. He pulled her into an embrace and listened to her breathing as she fell asleep. He looked down at her face, serene and content—it wouldn't be so bad mated to her.
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Now . . . .
Vegeta shook himself from the memory of their first night. He'd been taken by surprise. She had always been a beautiful woman in his eyes, but he'd always been a mass murder in his mind. He didn't deserve her, and he didn't let it bother him much; he had to beat Kakkarot. It occurred to him after their first night that if he did beat, or kill, Kakkarot, he couldn't destroy the earth, not with her on it. And then she'd harp on him for the rest of her life if he took her off and then destroyed the earth. It was a lose-lose situation.
She didn't know how much he had to sacrifice for her happiness. He couldn't kill Kakkarot—not that he wanted to anymore, but back then it was very important to him; he couldn't destroy the earth—not that he wanted to do that anymore either. His two reasons for basically living were taken away from him in one moment. But he had gained her love,' and he had gained two kids, so what the hell was his problem? He knew what is was: he had been bitter and angry at her ever since, even though the reasons for his bitterness had long ago passed away. The first few months were exciting, but over the years he had become more distant and oppressive. They still made love'—as she called it—but it was more of a release from their daily tensions and arguments.
Love. That was probably what he was missing. But he didn't even know what love is. If love was feeling this regret in his heart when he turned to find her side of the bed cold, or missing the way her eyes flashed when she was angry at him, or constantly thinking of her when she went away for long periods of time when she was angry at him—now being the only time she didn't come home to sleep the same night she left—then yes, he could say that he was in love with her.
"Show it to her," Bra had said.
How?
