Price had always been patient.

It wasn’t just a trait—it was a skill, a discipline, something honed over years of command. He knew how to wait, how to control himself, how to make others listen. The warm weight of his hands against her skin sent shivers down her spine as his calloused fingers traced slow patterns over her thighs.

His hands smoothed up the soft curves of her thighs, heat sinking into her skin as his fingers traced slow, deliberate paths. He reached her waist, thumbs pressing firmly into the dip of her hips, fingers spreading wide to hold her steady, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His grip was unshakable—warm, controlled, radiating quiet restraint that made her ache.

"Easy, love," he murmured, voice deep and low, his thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles over her skin. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something distinctly masculine—filled her senses as he spoke. "You know better than to squirm."

His cock rested heavy between her thighs, thick and hot, the weight of it pressing snugly against the slick heat of her folds. He gave a slow, teasing grind, dragging himself through the wet mess she’d already made, letting the swollen ridge of his length catch where it counted. The mattress creaked softly beneath them with the movement, the sound muffled by the thick comforter.

And fuck, he could feel her—needy, warm, her body practically inviting him in already with how she arched against him, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything he was so carefully withholding.

But that didn’t mean she was going to get it.

Not yet.

Not until his sweet girl asked properly.

"Shh," he soothed when she shifted again, fingers flexing against her hips, tightening just enough to make his point. The slight sting of his grip made her gasp, heat pooling between her legs. Not a reprimand—just a reminder. "You know better, sweetheart. Daddy doesn’t like impatience, don't be a brat."