Daddy's Little Whore
Daddy’s Little Whore – Part 44

KEIRA’s POV

I was beginning to lose my patience with this woman in front of me. She continued to stand in my way, unmoving, infuriating me to the core. We had only been apart for a few days and a woman was already in Clint’s home. Was I that easy to replace?

She looked more of his age but alluring nonetheless. Not more than I was, that is for sure.

“Clint is not in.” I could not tell if that was a lie or not. He would have shown up at the door by now. “It is best if you leave.”

“Look, I do not know who the hell you think you are, but I do not have time for this.”

“I am going to give you a bit of advice, kiddo,” the woman said, still not moving out of the way. “Do not let Clint waste your time. You seem young and he might seem like someone you can’t get enough of. But that is deceiving. He is only going to use you until he has had his fill.”

She spoke as if she knew him too well, like she had been in the same position as I was. But no, Clint was not using me. I refused to believe it. He was my therapist and I was his client. We had built our relationship on trust.

“I do not see a problem with that as long as we get what we both want,” I said with a smirk. The smug look on her face dropped in a way that satisfied me. “Tell him I dropped by.”

The door closed in my face after she rolled her eyes at me. I could not deny the jealousy I felt as I walked back to my car even if I had no right to get jealous.

I was rarely this level of annoyed. It was like every muscle in my body was drawn back, and I could not focus on anything other than the exact moment she answered the door. And a part of me was mad at him.

Except I could not be. I had known Clint for, what? A couple of weeks at most? I had no right to be feeling this way, but I did. And I f*****g hated it. Because maybe, if I had control over myself and not f****d someone else on his two week trip, things would not be the way they were now.

What the f**k had I been thinking?

I was not built for this kind of shit. None of the relationships I had had with my s****l partners had ever gotten to this point of being messy. They were not this complicated. But what had I expected to come out of f*****g my therapist? Natasha warned me about this and I had not listened.

I never regretted having s*x with him, though. If I was given the chance one more time, I would do everything over again. Anyone who would regret f*****g Clint was insane. With me, it wasn’t just about the s*x alone. I loved him touching me, staring into my eyes as he poured his seed into me time and time over. But I also loved him to pieces. Loved to hear him talk, or see those little creases on his brows when he felt I had misbehaved or done something wrong.

I froze as I realized what just crossed my mind.

I loved Clint? I ran my hands through my hair, pushing thoughts of him out quickly.

For the second day in a row, I have skipped school. I needed time to sort things out. My emotions had been all over the place and it exhausted me. I knew I had to take care of myself before I added more to my plate, or before I started worrying about Clint’s female visitor.

I had to talk to Clint. These past couple of days made it clear that if I did not speak to him, I would never move past everything that’s happened. And just like that, I went down the same line of thinking about him.

It was like he was some goddamn virus. Invading all of my thoughts and mind. And as much as I wanted him out, I also found my body and entire person wanting to reach out to him.

Something jittery and annoying poked at my insides. It lodged itself somewhere between my lungs and my heart and refused to budge.

It was like I did not exist to him anymore.

With a higher level of anger pumping in my veins, I drove into the highway, not even sure where I was headed to. I just needed to clear my head.

I drove past a park where my mum used to take me as a child and I slowed down, watching children run around the place. It hit me with a wave of nostalgia.

If I could relive my childhood, I happily and readily would.

Growing up was the hardest choice to make, especially since it involved growing up without her. When I was a kid, I thought that people over eighteen were adults, but the older I got, the more I learned that it had nothing to do with age and how you handled difficult situations.

It had been a while since I visited her grave. The shit I found myself in lately did not give me the chance to check on both of them. The two people who meant the world to me.

I pulled up at a flower shop and got out of my car. When I entered the shop, the cheerful chime of the doorbell announced my entrance and the lady at the front desk looked up.

Her lips spread with a smile. “I have been expecting you. How are you?”

The florist’s cheerful smile lifted my mood a bit. “Good. I like what you have done with the place.”

I looked around, admiring the new decorations that were not there the last time I dropped by. Everywhere smelled amazing from the blooming petunias and a mixture of other flowers. The rays of sunlight that shone brightly on them amplified their lovely appearances.

“Thank you.” Her smile went wider as if proud of herself. “Do you want me to get you the usual?”

Every single time I came here, I had only gotten one thing: White roses. I nodded as she moved to pick out my preference. It was my mother’s favourite before she passed away and so I brought them to her grave whenever the ones there had withered. I never got tired of renewing them.

I waited as she got the flowers ready, taking all the time she needed. I was not in a hurry so I did not mind.

“Here you go.” She handed me the bouquet as I slipped out my purse to pay for them.

“Have a nice day.”

I walked back to my car and the smile dropped from my face when I got my privacy again. Today has been going terribly so far. In fact, the whole week had been shit.

The drive to the cemetery was quick. I stepped out of the car, instantly absorbing the heat of the sun. There was not a cloud in sight. I winced, pulling my bag over my shoulder and located my mother’s tombstone. Just like I predicted, the previous flowers had dried and the dead petals scattered to my brother’s tombstone beside hers.

I put them aside and placed the bouquet in my hands over her tombstone, my throat clogging up with tears that threatened to spill.

Nothing had ever been the same without them.