Her shareholder meeting seemed to go on for hours. Average people might take pleasure in the hors d'oeuvres and flowing champagne, but Bulma's head was buzzing. Maybe it was the stress. Her duties at work were piling up higher than ever as her father weaned himself off CEO duties. Her father had never enjoyed the business aspect of Capsule Corp and left as many administration duties as possible to his peers (or more often, his daughter). His happiness came from invention: sleepless nights in his lab followed by blissful afternoon naps under his desk. This left Bulma taking on more than her share, as she herself needed time alone to tinker with equipment and plans. This third flute of champagne, of course, was not helping her avoid a migraine.

The chatter of her colleagues grated on her nerves, like woodpeckers slowly chinking away at bark. This must be how Vegeta feels when left alone with mom, she thought with a barely noticeable smirk.

Vegeta, the most stressful woodpecker of them all…. No RFPs at the office were too boring an escape from Vegeta's screeching voice. She thought back to that day on the terrace after their return from Namek…. How blissful they had all been that day, riding the euphoria of the team's victory against Frieza. Perhaps she got caught up in the glow that day when she offered Vegeta a home at the compound. He had just returned to life with no home and no friends, nothing to his name except the clothes on his back, and even those were dirty and tattered. Bulma must not have grasped what life with Vegeta would be like back then, but she sure did now. Day in and day out: yelling, squabbling over nothing…. eggs or no eggs, 250 or 300 times' gravity, dinner at 7 or dinner at 9, a bed or a cot. Anything Bulma did or said seemed to annoy him, but avoiding him seemed to annoy him even more. There was no winning and there was no escape.

Edmond Salvich—a fat, middle-aged manager whose eyes rarely rose above her chest when he spoke to her—was talking again, and that was the last straw. Bulma finished the dregs of her champagne with an unceremonious chug and slapped the glass back on the table, excusing herself and bidding goodnight. The family chauffeur was waiting outside and fled to fetch the car when he saw Bulma swaying through the lobby. Truthfully, her buzzed stumble in heels still looked more graceful than that of most ladies at the hotel. The car arrived, and before long she was on her way home.

During the drive Bulma stared out the window, making lists as she always did. First thing's first when she gets home: take an aspirin, make a cappuccino, pour a small pinot noir, set up her Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom, run a hot bubble bath, and let the relaxation commence! When she arrived at the compound, she made a careful effort to come in through the back—the farthest entrance from the Gravity Room so as to avoid His Royal Pain in the Ass. Successfully reaching her bedroom unseen, she set to gathering the essentials. Being a stickler for the high life, she kept a mini fridge and an espresso machine in her bedroom, which adjoined a master bath with a luxurious oval Jacuzzi tub. She set the tone with relaxing, quiet background music and set to drawing the bath. The aromas of her bath salts drifted down the hallway as she began to disrobe. Her stifling suit jacket and pencil skirt were thrown on her bed. Bulma's negligée made it into the bathroom before they too met the floor.

Bulma carefully stepped into the tub, her sources of caffeine and alcohol already waiting for her on the flat outer surface. She enjoyed the warm water and let her muscles relax for the first time all day. The music lulled her, and her favorite drinks soothed her senses to the point of mush. This is what she'd needed. This is what every challenging day at Capsule Corp usually culminated to.

Well, often they led to something else too. Would tonight be another hot "alone session" in the tub? An orgasm always helped Bulma cope with stress, and since Yamucha typically could not bring her there, her pleasure was a matter left to private nights like this one. She grinned at the notion, but then thought better of it. Lately she had been completely stunted in the arousal department. She couldn't remember the last time it had worked. Had it been weeks? Months? She would try to engage herself in all the usual ways, but lately Bulma just could not get a rise out of herself, compounding her frustrations. She was always annoyed—annoyed with work, annoyed with her friends who never visited, annoyed with her mother with whom she could barely hold a conversation, annoyed with her supposed boyfriend who couldn't find time to visit her amidst his own training regimen, and who no doubt gallivanted on the town with Tien every night afterwards, annoyed with…. VEGETA! UUUGH.

Bulma's frustration was so palpable that she let out a shrill hiss in the bath. Even in her bath, her private space, he invaded her calm. He was the most obnoxious, intrusive, selfish person she had ever met. He bothered her constantly. He was surely the reason she was so pent up! She cursed his name and laid her head back against the tub. That bastard better not come bowling through the house demanding a late supper. He was Bunny's problem tonight. Bulma had done enough cooking, serving, cleaning, fixing, and mothering on behalf of that pompous oaf. He never appreciates it. He followed her around everywhere. All he did was sneer, eat, complain, and train. Bulma pictured him then, emerging from the Gravity Room in the afternoon sun just like he did yesterday with sweat glistening down his neck, across his chest, down his waist and into his shorts—his tight little shorts. He had put his hands behind his hips and bent back slightly to stretch. His hair, wet with sweat, hung unusually flat and clung to his neck halfway down his back. He had looked sideways at her while he stretched and raised an eyebrow in her direction. It had almost seemed mischievous.

Vegeta was actually extremely attractive when he was silent. Sometimes she would linger on the lawn when the Gravity Room was inoperable and read so that she might clandestinely watch him train and meditate.

Bulma then thought of Vegeta as a Saiyan – the last of his culture, as limited as his time on Vegeta-sei was. She thought of how lonely that existence must be, living hundreds of thousands of light-years from the place you knew as home, and knowing that your family, your people, and your planet were all dead. It's no wonder he's angry, she always had to remind herself. No doubt his quest for revenge against Frieza defined him as he grew up. Now that Vegeta was living as an earthling, with no quest and no home, what did he want to do? What did he even care about? What might he want?

Bulma felt a twinge of guilt about how frequently she thought ill of him, but only a little bit. He certainly earned all of the screams and smacks and sarcasm she fed him. Bulma thought back to his face from yesterday again, how he sneered at her when he stretched. In response, she found her hand sliding down her thigh. She wondered what a super-strong, devoted, alien warrior might do to a woman's body if given the opportunity. What were Saiyan women like? And what did Vegeta do with them? Now her thoughts focused squarely on Vegeta's body. She imagined his eyes gazing into hers, as they often did from a distance or over dinner. She imagined him coming towards her hungrily, reaching for her. Bulma was shocked at the reaction her body was taking to this line of thought, but it had been so long, she dared not jinx it by asking any critical questions. In her mind's eye, Vegeta wordlessy removed her bra, and back in the tub Bulma caressed her left breast the way he might, dipping below the water to take a firm hold of it from the underside and squeeze. She began to breathe heavier as her legs slid up and down the tub, restless. In reaction, her free hand completed its journey up her thigh and began to tease her womanhood, slow in circles at first just on the outer flesh. She slid two fingers up and down those lips, catching her pleasure hub between them with each stroke before finally swirling her index finger down into herself.

After a long day of training, Vegeta headed into the house. He had not seen the woman all day, and he wondered if she had come home yet. He would have seen the headlights from the town car as it sped past. Vegeta wanted to eat, but nothing was prepared as he passed through the kitchen. Fine, he would shower and take a brief rest first. He headed up the stairs to his room, which was across the hall from Bulma's opulent living quarters, when he smelled something peculiar almost like flowers. He sniffed at the air, shrugged, and realized it was the familiar smell of Bulma's flowery bath salts. He continued with his evening routine, sat on the edge of his bed, and removed his sneakers. Then his head shot up. No. Not the bath product.

He slowly returned to the hallway. He stood silent trying to listen. He heard quiet, labored breathing and the feminine timbre of a voice. His nostrils flared as he deeply inhaled. His heightened, alien senses could hear and smell much more than humans, but earth dwellings were so overrun with strong smells, it was difficult to notice the little things. When he finally parsed out the scent that had his senses on edge, his eyes widened, and his body stiffened. He stood for a moment in awe and disbelief. His legs moved toward Bulma's room without him willing them to. He should not enter her private quarters, but the door was ajar, and his feet seemed to have a mind of their own now. He had never smelled this of humans, but he instinctively knew the scent of female arousal.

He looked around the bedroom, but there was no one there. His ears pricked up when a sound came from the bathroom, the door to which was wide open. He heard again the labored breathing and some splashing. The smell of her arousal at this close distance was dizzying, and he crept towards the door to the bathroom. His heart nearly stopped when she suddenly breathed his name. "Ve-ge-ta", came the low murmur. Had she heard him? Improbable, but since he was found out as might as well admit his presence. He stepped just inside the door.

But her eyes were closed, and her breathing continued. She had no idea he was there. And her body…. If Vegeta felt stiff before, he now utterly turned to stone. Her shoulders and knees jutted out of the water, and her head was tilted back against the marble, sweaty or wet from the bath he couldn't tell. Her eyelids were pressed tightly shut, and she panted through parted lips. Her nipples rose out of the water with each breath and then fell into the bath again. One hand massaged her neck and came back down across the curve of a breast. With the other hand, Bulma was fast at work on herself, the source of the minor splashes he'd heard as her arm dipped in, out, and around her dark center. "Vegeta…." she moaned again. Her back slowly arched out of the water. Now her breasts did the splashing as her movements graduated from slow to quick and jerking.

Vegeta could barely breathe. His mind was rushing as he watched Bulma pleasure herself to thoughts of him. He didn't think she even liked him. She hated speaking to him! She constantly yelled at him! He loved when she yelled at him, of course, but he never imagined those lips telling him anything that wasn't dripping with disdain, much less dripping with sexual innuendo. He obviously did not understand earth women or earth mating culture at all.

Bulma's eyes fluttered open as she continued her work, and reactively Vegeta pulled away from the door. For some reason he found himself anxious at being caught watching. He hastily retreated from the bathroom, rushed over to his room, and sat against the connecting wall to her bathroom. Resting his head against the cement, he focused all his senses on listening through the wall. He listened for every pant, every motion, every little sound that came from Bulma's lips as her pleasure continued to build. His hand reached inside his shorts and tugged at his own heavy arousal. His eyes closed on their own, and his neck craned as he stroked in time with her breath. Her voice started increasing in pitch and coming faster, and his own hand quickened up and down his flesh to match. His fist pounded against his sack with each furious downward stroke. His teeth grinded together, his eyebrows creased, and all the blood in his body seemed to drain down to his pink, pulsing head. Bulma's loud cry of release beyond the wall was complemented by the heavy splash of her legs in the tub. Heat flashed throughout Vegeta's face and neck as he reacted to it, the most sensual of sounds he'd ever heard, and he lost control of his erection as he pulled it one final time.