When His Perfect Mask Shattered I Awoke (Anneliese) novel Chapter 555

With no command taking effect, the elevator doors opened, closed, then opened once more—none of it muffling the slick sounds of kissing or the ragged breaths tangled between them.

Jonathan only snapped out of the haze when Anneliese bit down hard enough on his lips. The sharp, metallic tang hit his tongue, and clarity finally forced its way back in.

He loosened his hold. When he glanced down, he realized her cheeks were streaked with tears he hadn't seen forming. Under the stark elevator lights, they shimmered. Her mouth was red and tender from his kisses, and her almond-shaped eyes gleamed with a fractured shine.

She seemed frightened of him. Or like she was standing on the edge of emotions she couldn't hold back any longer.

"Honey, I—"

Her expression twisted with pain, tightening everything in his chest. He was just about to speak when she suddenly lifted her hand.

A sharp crack split the air.

She slapped him. Her strength was mostly gone, so the blow itself was barely anything.

But the humiliation landed deep. The heat that had filled the cramped space moments ago drained away, turning everything icy.

She stared at the faint red imprint rising on Jonathan's cheek, her fingers curling in horror at what she'd just done.

"I..." Her lips trembled. She wanted to explain she hadn't meant it.

She expected him to erupt. Instead, he caught her hand and drew it toward him.

He lowered his gaze to her reddened fingertips. Then he leaned in and took them into his mouth.

Warm. Wet. Soft. The sensation wrapped around her skin, and a bolt of heat shot straight through her limbs.

Anneliese froze, her tears hanging there but refusing to fall. She looked at him like she didn't understand what was happening.

Jonathan held her gaze, his eyes dark, damp, and consuming.

Ignoring the way she trembled, he took each fingertip in turn, sucking lightly as he murmured in a low, rough voice.

"Did that hurt? Do you want to try again?"

Anneliese thought he'd lost his mind.

And a man that gentle, that unhinged from his usual self—had to be guilty. Her heart lurched at the thought, and she ripped her hand away. The tears finally broke, spilling fast and heavy.

So when the elevator doors opened, and she was there—within reach—he lost control. He grabbed her, kissed her, and needed to convince himself she hadn't vanished. That she still belonged to him.

He never imagined she didn't know who he was at all—and had made up some absurd "substitute" story instead.

Now he didn't know whether to be relieved she hadn't uncovered anything, or devastated she hadn't recognized him.

A man who always acted with certainty now stood completely unraveled.

His hands hung uselessly at his sides; he couldn't figure out where to start.

Another thick tear slid down her cheek. He leaned forward instinctively to kiss it away, and she shoved him back.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice cracked, but her resolve didn't.

He stepped back half a step immediately, hands lifted in a small surrender.

"Alright. I won't. Just listen. You've got it wrong. You could never be a substitute. I can barely keep up with you. When would I even have time to pine after someone else? Baby, it's you. It's only you, and it always has been."