The apartment was dimly lit, all warm shadows and golden lamplight. The kind of lighting that made silk look like liquid and nerves feel like something sacred.

Selina stood in the doorway, framed by the glow, wearing lace like it was armor. Black, delicate, daring. Every inch chosen with precision—not for herself, but for her.

Her wife sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide, hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of her robe. She’d faced crowds, critics, cameras… but Selina like this? That was something else entirely.

Selina moved with a predator’s grace, slow and assured. She didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Every step said it for her. You’re mine. You’re safe. And you’re the only one who gets to see this.

She stopped just close enough to tilt her wife’s chin up with one fingertip, that signature smirk playing on her lips.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered, finally. “That better be because of me.”

The answer was a breathless nod.

And Selina—ever the cat—purred her approval.