...It took a delicate, steady hand—one attuned to the mechanism to wind properly without shifting and causing irreparable injury to the workings. The mechanism should not be wound too tightly, nor allowed to remain too loose. The key fitted properly, she then fused her open palm flush to the pliable stretched muscle in the vicinity of his fine, solid chest. She willed a measure of her special hearthealer magical energy into his casing as she carefully turned the key, feeling the tension tighten in the mechanism surrounding the keyhole. Beneath her touch his skin warmed, the heat radiating through him as he slowly revived like waking from a long sleep.

Ear to his chest, she listened, her finely attuned hearing vigilant to the least nuance of change in the rhythm. Almost immediately the steady hum and whiz of perfectly weighted clockwork met her hearing. A smile of relief curled her lips when she felt a large hand cup the back of her head, pressing her close.

“As always,” a deep, rumbling voice said, “your work is unparalleled, my beautiful hearthealer.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. So tall and broad and handsome. Had she been in possession of her human heart she might have learned to love him as she would any man. But a heart of gold left little room for so deep and true an emotion. And considering how fragile her human heart had been, she could not deny that this was really the safest emotion. But still she enjoyed him, cared for him in a manner and with a depth of passion that sometimes surprised her. And scared her. There always seemed to be an echo of something from her darkened past that she should remember, but it refused to be realized. Perhaps that’s what stopped her from loving deeply—the memory of a bruised past—and not the workings of a gold heart.

He lifted her. Her plain brown woolen dress and pretty white petticoats shifted up past her thighs as she parted her shapely stocking-clad legs to wrap them around him, and the lips of her pussy flowered. She felt the nudge of his cock against her opening, every part of him now in perfect, and lusty, alignment. He thrust, burying the thick rod inside her. She wound her arms around his neck; his hands cupped her buttocks, holding her firmly, pressing her close as he filled her so perfectly and completely.

Flavio rocked her gently, rhythmically, thrusting again and again with the momentum and shining beauty of the swinging pendulum of the clocktower in the town square. The soft linen of her petticoats whispered against her flesh as his thick, slickened length pleasured her. He walked them across the room to her worktable. Balancing her against the edge of the gray stone ledge, he brushed the stray hearts and delicate instruments aside. He pressed her down onto the table. Withdrawing his cock from inside her, he widened her slick thighs. Lowering his head, he then pressed forward and his tongue speared into her moist channel.

She cried out as she flexed her hips and his mouth sealed to her mound as he lapped at her juices, his tongue swirling over her clit. The workings of her heart sped up, pulsing hard and quick, as he tasted her, taking his time as he built her passion.

Her climax surged high and powerful, her scream of completion filled the room as he sucked at her cream.

“Flavio.”

Straightening up, his lips shiny with her juices, the scent of her pleasure permeating the air, he then carefully lifted her from the table, setting her back on her feet. She wavered slightly and he held her lightly as she regained her bearings, the pulsing echo of her climax offering an edge of carnal sensitivity to his touch on her flesh.