The Owl and the Pussycat
Night Owl stood poised on the rooftop, wings moving in the midnight wind, when she slinked from the shadows—Catwoman, all curves and claws, her voice silk over steel. “You’re always so tense, hero,” she purred, circling him like a panther.
He didn’t flinch, but his breath caught as her fingers trailed the line of his cowl. “What’s the matter? Afraid the dark might feel good for once?” His mission blurred with her scent, her smile, the heat between them—just long enough for her to slip the stolen microchip from his belt, vanishing into the night with a kiss and a laugh.
To be continued...
By Sandy Q
The Owl and the Pussycat
Night Owl stood poised on the rooftop, wings moving in the midnight wind, when she slinked from the shadows—Catwoman, all curves and claws, her voice silk over steel. “You’re always so tense, hero,” she purred, circling him like a panther.
He didn’t flinch, but his breath caught as her fingers trailed the line of his cowl. “What’s the matter? Afraid the dark might feel good for once?” His mission blurred with her scent, her smile, the heat between them—just long enough for her to slip the stolen microchip from his belt, vanishing into the night with a kiss and a laugh.
To be continued...
By Sandy Q