Selina didn’t need nine lives to keep her edge—just the right audience. Tonight, it was only her and the woman she

loved, tucked away in their penthouse above Gotham, the city lights glittering like stars desperate for attention. But they couldn’t compete with her.

Draped in black silk and confidence, Selina moved with the grace of a thief and the heat of a dare. Every step, every sway, was deliberate—meant to tease, to tempt, to claim. Her wife sat back in the velvet chair, silent, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

This wasn’t just seduction. It was devotion. A celebration in rhythm and skin.

And Selina? She was always best when the stakes were intimate.