mobofair

Preview

Added 2019-03-19 17:00:00 +0000 UTC

Long after the lights of Las Vegas had gone dark and been replaced by the harsh sun of the desert it was a mirage in, a Porsche 918 Spyder sped away from the city. Bruce sat in the driver’s seat, the hood down, the wind in his hair, the lapels of his unbuttoned summer suit fluttering with the breeze, exposing the chest hair and scars that lay above his undershirt.

Selina Kyle sat in the passenger seat, wearing a tight black bandage dress of individual straps, nearly overwhelmed by the voluptuous body they contained, and so opening a little to reveal tantalizing glimpses of flesh, like Venetian blinds that had been slightly opened. Matching garters and stockings picked up where the dress left off, just below its high-cut hem in fact, and they were on display in abundance as she laid sideways in her chair, her legs over the door and rolled-down window, her head in Bruce’s lap, all short chic haircut and ironical cat’s-eye sunglasses. Heedless of the speed at which Bruce drove, she let her black pumps dangle from her purple-painted toes and sway in the wind resistance.

In her slender thief’s fingers, she toyed with a Silver Strike medallion from the hotel they’d stayed at, twisting it on her fingertips and biting at the precious minerals of it to test their authenticity. She liked the taste of authenticity.

If she wore underwear in the few inches of coverage the dress provided, slipping down her upturned hips as it was, the World’s Greatest Detective couldn’t make a case for it.