Craving My Ruthless Ceo novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Anna’s POV

I blinked. “What does that even mean?”

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“It means exactly what I said.” He turned to face me fully now, leaning against the counter. His eyes were dark and intense. “I don’t date, ever.”

“What? Are you…” I stopped myself, heat flooding my face.

His eyebrow arched. “Am I what?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“Are you… like, do you not like women? Because if that’s the case that’s totally fine, I just…”

He laughed before moving toward me until he was close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

His hand came up to rest on the counter beside my hip, then slid down, his fingers brushing the hem of my dress. His touch grazed my inner thigh, feather-light.

I trembled.

He leaned in, his lips nearly touching my ear. “I’m disappointed you would ask me that after everything that happened between us last night.”

His fingers inched higher, stopping just short of my panties.

I gripped the counter edge to keep my balance. “Do you really need me to remind you that I’m very much attracted to women? Especially you.”

My face burned. “No. No, I don’t need a reminder.”

“Good.” But he didn’t step back or give me space.

His eyes traveled over my face, down to my lips. “I don’t have girlfriends because I prefer contract relationships.”

“Contract… what?”

“I have contractual relationships. I prefer to call them CRS.”

I stared at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely.”

“That’s…” I searched for words. “That’s the most out-of-touch rich person thing I’ve ever heard. Do you people really live like

this?”

His lips twitched with amusement. “If you’re curious about what t entails, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “What does it entail?”

“I like to think of it as terms that serve both parties.”

He pulled away, and the loss of his proximity felt like cold water

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O

11:01 Sat, Feb 7 BBB

Chapter 92

He started working on the sauce, olive oil and garlic filling the kitchen with its scent.

“I state my terms. She states hers. We find middle ground. And yes, compensation is a part of the agreement

“Wait so all that really means is you pay someone, and they have to do whatever you want?”

He shook his head. “There’s more to it.”

I chuckled. “What kind of expectations are we talking about here” I needed to understand his mind.

His eyes glinted with dark humor. “Are you interested in being my contract partner, Anna?”

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“No!” The word came out too fast and loud. “God, no. I believe in real relationships. Love. Connection. Not some cold business transaction.”

“Love.” He spat the word like it burned. “You mean that reckless, unpredictable thing that makes people cheat, lie, destroy themselves for someone who will leave anyway?”

There was a kind of hurt in his voice, the kind that only comes from being betrayed. Who could have hurt him so badly that he doesn’t even believe in love anymore? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. Not yet.

“That’s not what love is,” I said instead. “Real love isn’t like that.”

He ignored me. “Come here.” He gestured me over to the stove. Taste this.”

I walked closer. He dipped a spoon into the sauce, lifted it, and blew gently across it. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice soft. “It’s hot.”

He held it to my lips, his fingers brushing mine.

I leaned in, letting him feed me. The sauce was rich, savory, perfect, and the warmth from both the food and his touch made my stomach flutter.

“Good?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“Really good,” I breathed.

A slow smile curved his lips. He lifted his thumb, wiping a tiny drop from my cheek, lingering for a moment that made my pulse spike.

The moment stretched between us, intimate and charged, before he turned back to the stove.

“Isn’t it?” He stirred the sauce for a moment, then faced me. “Think about it logically, Anna. What are the main reasons relationships fail?”

He started ticking them off on his fingers.

“Money. Sex. Different life goals. Different values. Infidelity. People changing. People lying about who they really are. People promising forever and then walking away when things get hard.

His voice had grown harder with each word.

“My way eliminates the guesswork,” he continued, his tone almost angry now. “Everything is discussed upfront. Boundaries set. No one gets hurt because no one expected more than what was agreed upon. It’s honest. It’s fair.”

“That’s not…” I struggled to articulate what felt so wrong about it That’s not real. Neither is it living.”

“It’s more real than love.” He went back to the pasta, testing a piege between his fingers.

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O

11:01 Sat Feb 2DDB.

Chapter 92

“Love is a chemical reaction. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, Itways fades. My relationships are built on something more sustainable. Mutual benefit Clear expectations. No false promis

I wanted to argue. Is tell him he was wrong. To shake him andke him see that what he was describing wasn’t a relationship at all.

But the conviction in his voice stopped me.

He really believes this analogy down to his core.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually thought about this,” I said, “Like, ally sat down and worked out a whole philosophy around

“Of course I have.” He met my eyes, and there was challenge the “Hence the decision to structure my relationships this way. It’s less complicated. Everyone knows where they stand. Wat they stand to gain. What they’re required to give. No messy emotions. No unexpected betrayals.”

“At the end of the day, everyone wants something,” he continued his voice taking on that ruthless edge again. I’m just honest about it. I’m not lying or deceiving anyone to get my way I don’t promise love and forever when I know it won’t last. I don’t pretend to feel emotions I don’t have. I don’t make vows can’t keep.”

The way he said it was so cold and certain, it frightened me. How could I fall for this man? This broken, cynical man who didn’t believe in love.

I grabbed my wine, taking a long sip to calm myself. “It’s not about lying or deceiving. It’s about genuinely feeling things. About connecting with someone on a level that goes beyond terms, conditions, and negotiated agreements,”

“Emotions make you weak,” he countered.

“No.” I set my glass down hard enough that it clinked against the marble. “Love makes you strong. It pushes you to be better. To care about someone more than yourself. To want their happiness as much as your own. To be willing to sacrifice, to compromise, to grow.”

“And when that person leaves?” There it was. The wound laid bar. “When they cheat? When they decide you’re not enough anymore? When they choose someone else? When you find out they’ve been lying about who they really are all along?”

Someone destroyed him.

My heart ached for him. For whatever had happened to make him this way.

“Then you heal,” I said softly, moving closer. “And you try again. Because one bad experience, or even multiple bad experiences, doesn’t mean love isn’t real. It just means you have found the right person yet.”

He turned back to the stove. Lifted the pot of pasta, drained it. Steam rose up between us. He dumped the pasta into the pan with the sauce and tossed it together. The smell hit me, rich and savory.

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