Price knew you were upset, knew it, saw it, and still couldn’t resist pressing every button you had. He loved the way your hackles rose for him. Loved the flash of your teeth, the bite in your voice. A little jab from him and that fire always lit up your eyes.
He clicked his tongue. “That’s not how a mutt’s supposed to talk to their owner.”
“You did no—”
Your protest cut off in a sharp inhale as his hand closed around your throat. Firm. Claiming. He hauled you in until your noses brushed, his fingers squeezing just enough to steal the rest of your breath and your argument with it.
“Mutts don’t talk,” he murmured, voice dropping to something dark and pleased. “They listen.”
Your glare wavered, breaking into a shivery whine you didn’t consent to making. Heat rolled through your stomach, your body softening against his grip. Price’s smirk deepened, like he’d been waiting for that exact crumble.
“Look at you,” he crooned in your ear, squeezing a fraction harder until your pulse fluttered. “Gettin’ filthy from a little touch. That what you need, mutt? Need to be filthy for sir?”
Your knees hit the floor before you fully realized he’d pushed you down, his strength effortless, inevitable. The tip of his boot pressed between your legs, grinding against your clothed sex as he angled your face up toward him.
“Go on,” he ordered.
Your hands shook as you freed his cock, and Price didn’t give you time to think before guiding himself onto your tongue. Your muffled whine vibrated along his length, your hips already rocking helplessly against the pressure of his boot.
“There we go,” he hummed, settling one leg over your shoulder to cage you in place, commanding and immovable. “Sir’ll take care of you. Keep you right here ’til that attitude of yours is fixed.”
Your throat worked around him, your body straining for every scrap of friction he gave you. And Price just watched, satisfied, as his mutt obeyed exactly the way he liked.