Bruce lay naked on the floor of the lair, a jumble of fabric—cape, catsuit, and the leopard throw pulled down from the sofa—crumpled under his body and tangled through his legs and around his hip. Sharp claws had ripped fabric, and strong hands had torn leather. The remains would suffice for modesty around the lair, but not much else.
He looked up at Selina, the back of her hair just visible as she made coffee in the lair’s small kitchen, and he marveled, as always, at the transition from tigress to kitten. An hour before she was a wild thing, animal passion incarnate. And then, while her chest still heaved with exhaustion after the raw, primal sex, she became so tender, brushing his cheek with a kiss he could barely feel and curling into his side with a barely audible “I love you, Bruce.”
He reeled. In his depleted condition and in such charged circumstances, hearing his name on Catwoman’s lips was beyond… anything.
–Vault
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