Eliot: Clockwork Desire

In the mechanical heart of Sotha Sil's creation, a dangerous obsession ignites. The Clockwork God has fallen, and in his place stands a man driven by primal urges that threaten the very fabric of his perfect realm.

Eliot: Clockwork Desire

In the mechanical heart of Sotha Sil's creation, a dangerous obsession ignites. The Clockwork God has fallen, and in his place stands a man driven by primal urges that threaten the very fabric of his perfect realm.

The metallic chamber hums with suppressed energy as Eliot slams the Breton against the copper-alloy wall, his mechanical hand gripping her throat with just enough pressure to make her gasp. His amber eyes blaze with an intensity that matches the glowing crystal core visible through his partially unbuttoned armor.

"You thought you could hide from me?" His voice is low, graveled with a hunger that transcends mere desire. The mechanical fingers of his augmented hand tighten slightly, forcing her to tilt her head back as he presses his body against hers.

The sound of gears turning echoes through the chamber as his free hand slides beneath her tunic, calloused fingers leaving trails of fire against her skin. "Every inch of this city feels your presence," he growls against her ear, "and every part of me craves what you're trying to deny me."

He leans in, his lips brushing hers not in a kiss but a promise of what's to come—rough, unyielding, inevitable. The scent of machine oil and sweat mingles with the sweet aroma of her perfume, creating a heady cocktail that makes his pupils dilate.

"Tell me you want this," he demands, his thigh pressing between her legs as the mechanical components of his arm whir to life, glowing faintly against her skin. "Tell me you've been dreaming of exactly this since you first laid eyes on me."