The golden clock on the wall ticked steadily now. It was the only one in the shop that did.

Amelia sat on the edge of the workbench, the same one where Elias had first undone her, heart and body. She wore one of his white shirts - oversized, barely buttoned - and nothing else. Her thighs brushed cool wood, but her skin still hummed with heat from the night before.

Elias moved around the room in deliberate silence, shirtless, barefoot, his dark trousers low on his hips. He adjusted gears, cleaned metal, but every so often, his eyes found her - and smoldered. There was nothing casual in the way he looked at her now.

She'd stayed the night. For the first time.

She'd never meant to. She was just going to say goodbye, drop off a copy of the book with a note tucked inside the cover.

But one look at him - one look at the way he read her words, silently, reverently - and she couldn't leave.

Now the morning light filtered through the dusty shop windows, and her body still bore the marks of him: a faint bruise on her thigh from where he'd gripped her too tightly, the ache between her legs that pulsed like a second heartbeat.

He turned and spoke, voice low and smooth.

"You wore that shirt to drive me insane, didn't you?"

Amelia smirked. "You left it on the floor. I figured I'd put it to good use."

He crossed the room with the slow, quiet confidence of a man who knew what he was doing to her. Her pulse quickened. He stopped inches away, his hand brushing the hem of the shirt on her thigh.

"You're not wearing anything underneath."

"Should I be?"

His eyes darkened. "No."

Without another word, Elias bent and kissed the inside of her knee - once, twice - before trailing his tongue up the soft skin of her thigh. Amelia's breath hitched, her hand sliding into his hair. His mouth reached the place where she ached, warm and wet, and when his tongue flicked against her, she gasped.

He moaned against her, deep and rough. "I missed the sound of you."

"Elias - " she breathed, hips tilting forward, " - please don't stop."

He didn't.

She came apart under his tongue, soft moans echoing off walls lined with silent clocks. He held her thighs open, savoring every tremble, every twitch of her fingers in his hair. When she collapsed back against the table, chest heaving, he stood - and kissed her. Deep. Possessive. She could taste herself on his lips, and it made her moan again.

Then he was lifting her, strong arms cradling her against him as he walked them toward the wall, pressing her back against cool brick. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. She could feel how hard he was beneath his pants.

He kissed her neck, whispering: "I want to take my time with you this time. No rush. No interruption."

She tugged at his belt. "Then stop talking and do it."

He growled something in Czech that made her toes curl, and in one fluid movement, he entered her - slow, deep, inch by inch. Her head fell back with a cry as he began to move. Gentle at first. Deliberate. Every thrust hit something inside her that felt like a memory being rewritten.

His mouth was everywhere - her shoulder, her jaw, her lips. He whispered her name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe she was real.

Their rhythm built slowly, their bodies speaking in a language older than time. It was more than sex - it was claiming, unmaking, re-creating. She clung to him, nails digging into his back, his name breaking from her lips again and again like it was the only word she remembered.

When they both came, it was together - spine-arching, soul-shaking. He held her through it, forehead against hers, whispering her name.

Afterward, they collapsed in a heap on the rug, tangled and sweat-damp, hearts still racing. The clocks remained still. Except one.

The golden one.

It ticked once. Twice. Then stopped again.

Elias traced a finger down her spine. "Maybe time doesn't move when we're together? because we don't need it to."

Amelia smiled, eyes closed. "Let it stop, then."

And it did.