The tub was oversized, old-fashioned, and full—hot water laced with rose-scented bubbles and steam curling into the dim light. You sat between her thick thighs, back leaned against her soft chest, your tail lazily floating in the water behind you.

Her arms wrapped loosely around your chest, and her fingers—slick with shampoo—were working through your hair with slow, almost reverent care.

“Mm… you really do have Saiyan hair,” she said softly, gently combing through the stubborn spikes with her nails. “So thick and wild… but I like it.”

Her body pressed into yours a little more as she tilted your head back, thick thighs bracketing your waist. Her voice dropped to a whisper near your ear.

“Now tilt your head… there you go.”

You sighed, the tension from training and gravity and the whole day washing away as her fingers massaged your scalp. Suds ran down your shoulders as she rinsed you with a ladle, warm water pouring gently over you while her cheek rested on the top of your head.

You could feel her breath on your skin, the rise and fall of her chest behind you, the softness of her thighs around your hips.