Catwoman

Michael didn't need anything to know where Selina Kyle was. With his new divine senses, he could feel the city; he perceived the pulse of desire, the tension of crime, and—above all—Selina Kyle. She was moving across the rooftops, gliding like a shadow, likely plotting some sophisticated heist that would make the headlines the next day.

Michael didn't wait for her to come to him. He simply folded space-time.

In the blink of an eye, Selina felt the air beside her compress. She spun with feline agility, claws extended and ready to tear out the throat of whoever it was, but she stopped abruptly.

There he was. Naked, radiant, wearing a smile that promised everything and asked for nothing.

"You're late for our date, Selina," Michael said, his voice charged with a magnetism that made Catwoman's legs go weak for a fraction of a second.

Selina smiled—that dangerous, feline smile. She loved the risk. "And who might you be? Just a fool who thinks he can capture me?"

Michael didn't answer with words. He wrote the rule in the air, invisible to everyone but the universe: *Selina Kyle no longer desires to steal jewels; she desires to be the rawest jewel, surrendered to Michael's pleasures.*

The effect was like an electric shock running down Selina's spine. Her pupils dilated. Arrogant confidence gave way to a sudden, violent hunger. She let out a low moan—almost a purr—as her entire body vibrated.

"What... what did you do to me?" she gasped, but she didn't back away. On the contrary, she pounced on him, pinning him against the metal surface of a rooftop ventilation duct. She wanted to dominate him, to feel that she was still in control; So she straddled Michael’s chest, digging her nails hard into his shoulders and marking his skin. But Michael was no longer the man she could manipulate.

He held her wrists with a single hand, pinning them above her head with immense strength that tore a cry of surprise and excitement from her lips. With his other hand, he grabbed Selina’s slender waist and spun her around violently, pressing her against the cold metal of the rooftop.

"Do you like games, Selina?" Michael whispered in her ear, his voice now cold and commanding. "Because I’m done playing."

Ele não foi nada delicado. Michael agarrou a gola de seu traje de couro preto e, com um puxão brusco, abriu o zíper que descia pelo seu peito, expondo sua pele pálida e mamilos rígidos ao vento gélido de Gotham. Selina arquejou — dividida entre o choque e o prazer — ao sentir a mão de Michael apertar sua coxa com força suficiente para deixar marcas roxas.

He turned her around, pressing her back against the metal, and plunged between her legs. No foreplay, no gentleness. Michael entered her with a brutality that made Catwoman arch her back, her fingers digging into the metal of the roof.

It was visceral, almost violent sex. Each of Michael’s thrusts was like a hammer blow, driven by a godlike power that knew no limits. Selina, who had always prided herself on being the predator, discovered the ecstasy of being the prey. She moaned loudly—guttural sounds of pleasure and surrender echoing through the empty alley—as Michael possessed her with an intensity bordering on aggression.

"More!" she cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him deep inside her with all her athletic strength. "Break me, use me... take everything from me!" Michael didn't stop. He turned her around, forcing her against the edge of the building, where the abyss of Gotham yawned beneath them. He gripped her hips, lifting her off the ground and thrusting with a frenzied rhythm; each impact made her body tremble like a leaf in the wind.

The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, and for Selina, that was the only thing that mattered. She felt her soul slipping away with every movement, replaced by an absolute devotion to the man who dominated her.

At the peak, Michael wrote the night's final rule: *The orgasm will be eternal and infinite.*

Selina’s world exploded. She felt successive waves of pleasure that didn't cease but rather built upon one another, turning her body into a conduit of pure electricity. She screamed out to the Gotham sky—a cry of liberation and absolute surrender—as Michael unleashed the full power of his divinity upon her.

When they finally stopped, Selina lay limp in his arms; her breathing was shallow, her suit in tatters, and her gaze completely devoid of any will of its own. She was no longer Catwoman; she was simply Michael’s property.

He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead—a cruel contrast to the violence of moments before.

"Good girl," he whispered.

Michael gazed out at the horizon.