Daddy's Little Whore
Daddy’s Little Whore – Part 23

KEIRA’s POV

Frat parties were always wild but I was not complaining. They were iconic, and probably the most stereotypical college party ever. Large barrels of alcohol were lined up on one part of the wall, smoothies for students who could not handle alcohol were lined up on the other as music blasted through the speakers.

And me? I was on my second glass of beer that evening. I was initially aiming for five but Brendon watched me like a hawk. He said something about not going past my limits. Like he knew what my limits were. Such a kill joy.

His eyes stayed on me as he weaved his way through the crowd of drunk, horny students.

“Did you drive here?” he yelled in my ears because of the loud music. “You can’t drive home after drinking.”

“I am more responsible than you think, smarty pants.”

“I am more surprised you agreed to come.”

I frowned slightly as his words sank in. “You asked me to.”

“I know,” Brendon said. “I just thought you had better stuff to do. You have been very busy lately with yoga and therapy.”

Shoot. Was that what it was? I had been too preoccupied and blamed it on him ignoring me instead. I did not realize how self centered I had been.

“And whose fault is that?” I smile up at him. “Therapy and yoga is taking all of my time because of you guys. You suggested it.”

“Have you ever really thought about the reason I made you do it?”

His question caught me off guard and I took my time to think about it. “Because I was getting an unhealthy amount of s*x?”

“Well, that is one of the reasons.”

“What is the other?”

“Figure it out yourself.” He winked playfully at me and left to join his other group of friends who had been hollering at him, while I stood there wondering what he meant.

I was too drunk for this shit.

I emptied the glass of alcohol down my throat, went in for another and by the end of the night, I was developing a familiar migraine. Brendon would talk my ears out for having more than two glasses, I was sure of it. He always nagged me when we dated in the past, and still continued to nag even as we were friends. I would never escape it.

The role of an overprotective boyfriend probably never left him.

Wanting to just curl up somewhere from the too much alcohol in my system, I headed out of the party without informing Brendon and hailed a cab. I called out an address to the driver and rested my head back on the seats.

I let the driver take me to Clint’s address, imagining the look on Natasha’s face when I told her how I ended my night. Drunk, horny and laid. The last part depended on how Clint would react to receiving an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night.

But f**k it. If sober me could not walk up to his house, then drunk me would gladly take up the challenge.

The drive took a while, or maybe it was because I kept staring at the car’s ceiling all through the time, holding myself back from puking on the seats.

The car finally came to a stop in front of a building and I tossed the driver a few dollars, staggering out of the vehicle with my heels in my hands.

His house stood tall in front of me, larger than what I was expecting. Clint seemed like a person who would settle for a small, cozy apartment. But this marvelousness in front of me was a surprise I never saw coming.

I had loved to see what other surprises he had up his sleeves.

I pressed down on the doorbell beside his gate a couple of times before it automatically slid open, letting me into his home. I lazily walked up to his front door, pushing it open with just a slight shove. He was making this too easy for me. Too accessible.

I liked it.

His empty living room welcomed me as I stepped in, taking in the structure of his house. He was good with interior decorating, I could tell. His furnitures looked like a lot of money, as did the rest of his equipment.

“Keira?”

His deep voice filled my ears as soon as he spoke and pinned me to the spot where I stood. I gulped and quickly whirled around. Clint stood only a few feet away. He wore a white t-shirt that hugged his wide chest and did nothing to hide the toned expanse of his arms, complete with long sweatpants with white stripes by the sides.

Clint looked surprised to see me. Even I surprised myself by coming here tonight. His hair was messy, as if he had been running his hands over it.

I liked the professional Clint, dressed in his well ironed suit and overcoat with warm eyes that made my skin tingle. But I resonated with the casual him more.

“Keira, it is one a.m,” he slowly said. “Are you drunk?”

“How could you tell?”

“Your feet are unsteady and your heels are off,” Clint trailed off. “Your dress also signifies you are coming back from a party, and that is where you got drunk.” He gazed around his living room and when his eyes found what they were looking for, he grabbed his jacket. “I will take you home.”

“No. If I wanted to go home, I would not

have come here.”

Seeing him in front of me gave me much satisfaction. I had tried to touch myself to soothe my need but they were nothing compared to his caresses. He would have to do the work himself.

“You had all of the week to come here, and you chose to come drunk in the middle of the night,” he said.

“Have you been waiting for me?” I spoke soothingly, trying to coax the answers out of him and sliding my hands down his chest, my fingers brushing a nipple underneath his shirt.

His expression was still as calm as ever but I did not

miss the sharp intake of his breath. “You have no idea.”