Daddy's Little Whore
Daddy’s Little Whore – Part 42

KEIRA’s POV

Clint was serious. It had been a week since I had seen him and I was slowly starting to regret my actions. An email came in the day after I last saw him about my appointment schedule with my new therapist. I had replied to the email requesting they return Clint as my therapist.

I was yet to receive any feedback. It did not take a genius to figure out I had been completely ignored. Regardless of my realisation, I still hoped that he would reply to my email, and contact me the moment he sees it. I guess that was wishful thinking on my part.

Clint’s words lingered in my mind. They plagued my very being and kept eating at my conscience. The part where he blurted out he had problems of his own. Yes, every breathing being had one problem or the other but his… his I was more interested in. I wanted to know what worries plagued the one person I had bared my soul to. Clint knew almost everything about me while I never bothered for once to give a shit about him.

Hearing him say he had problems of his own felt like a stab to his chest. All I had been doing was looking for every means to get into his pants, disregarding that he too, was a human being. It filled me with regret. Our last two meetings ended on a very bad note, especially our last meeting.

I should not have said the words I uttered to him. I was so hell bent on preserving our current relationship, which made me use a wrong manner of approach. I grimaced as my eyes trailed my body from the reflection in the mirror that was right in front of me.

My heart was telling me one thing, and it was how much I missed and craved for Clint’s presence. Aside from him being a very sexually attractive person, he had other qualities that drew me to him. His sharp eyes that twinkled the moment he laid them on me, the way he smiled at me during our therapy session.

His soft smile always warmed my heart and left me feeling reassured. I wanted that again. I envisioned myself, in his minimalist styled office, sitting behind his desk, with his hand folded in front of him in such a professional manner.

I was seated directly opposite him, and he was smiling at me, the smile I loved to see. The atmosphere around the office was peaceful and it felt like Clint and I had gotten lost in our own world. But I snapped back to reality and I went solemn instantly.

When would Clint shoot me that warm smile of his again? I let out a sigh and pushed a few strands of hair away from my eyes. The last time I saw him, there was not a single hint of happiness in his face. My heart shattered the moment he went grim as soon as he looked at me.

I wanted him to look at me and a smile would spread across his face. I wanted to be the reason for his happiness, but I screwed that up so badly.

The only thing I had cared about was getting him to f**k me, now I had lost it all. But not entirely so. The next session with my new therapist was scheduled today. There was a high chance I would run into Clint if I went. I gave myself a look over in my mirror as Natasha poked her head into my room.

“Are you leaving yet? I need you to get me something on your way back,” she said.

“What?” I asked, as I turned to her, my eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

“Remember those marshmallows you got me on my birthday? I want one of those.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled up the zipper of my dress. “You know what the doctor said about your sugar level. You are supposed to keep your sugar intakes at a minimum.”

“And you are supposed to not be sexually attracted to your therapist. So I guess we are both flawed. Get me my marshmallows.”

I was yet to tell Natasha about Clint referring me to another therapist. I knew how she would react. She would probably think it was the right thing for him to do and would want me to keep it that way.

“Good news for you. Clint no longer wishes to be my therapist.”

Natasha fully stepped into my room, closing the door shut. “Really? What changed his mind?”

My threats. “Nothing. I am thinking of a way to make him take me back. What do you suggest?”

“Are you crazy?”

Maybe I was. Why did it matter that I get therapy from him? It was not like my new therapist was any less experienced than he was. “I am running late. See you later.”

“Do not forget the marshmallows,” Natasha yelled after me as I slid into my car and turned it on, reversing out of the driveway.

Okay, so first things first; get to the clinic, inform the receptionist I would prefer Clint as my therapist, and then wait for him to show up. Easy peasy. He could not be that mad at me to reject me as a client the second time.

The first time was only a mistake and a spur of the moment kind of shit. I accepted it now. It was my fault. I should not have barged into his office, I should not have made him lose a client, I should not have threatened to sue him in court and most importantly, I should not have thought only of myself.

My s****l desires had clouded my thinking more than it should have. Clint was as sexually frustrated as I was too but he had better ways of dealing with him.

I made a stop at the receptionist’s desk when I walked into the clinic, flashing her a smile. “Hi. I sent an email last week and I never got a response. Is there a problem?”

The girl blinked at me before collecting her thoughts, like she was filtering what was meant to be said in her head. “We may have forgotten to give you a reply. I am sorry about that. Mr. Homer firmly stated he would not be seeing you anymore and referred to one of our best therapists. It is guaranteed you would receive the same high quality of his sessions.” A bright smile followed after her response.

Her reply was not as satisfying as she thought it was. What did she expect me to do after hearing that? Throw a f*****g confetti for scaring my therapist off?

“Is he in?” I asked. “I will talk to him myself.”

“You cannot do that. He is with a client.” That should have been me. “Mr. Kenswood’s office is that way. He is ready to see you.”

Begrudgingly, I dragged my foot towards where the receptionist had directed, gazing over Clint’s office door. With a sigh, I twisted the door knob to Mr. Kenswood’s office and let myself into the brightly coloured room.

“Welcome. You must be at Keira temple.” The man’s eyes smiled up at me behind his glasses. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I could not. It was different from Clint’s office and everything felt foreign. His glossy mahogany desk was nearly arranged, having only a file, a pen holder and a small, framed photo on it. My eyes trailed to the framed photo and I could see that it was a picture of him, and a woman I figured to be his wife.

I settled down on the chair opposite him, still not saying a word as I kept my gaze on him.

Mr. Kenswood pushed the glasses closer to his eyes. “From your file here, I can see the context of your situation and how far you and Mr. Homer had gone. He is very detailed in his notes, I must say.”

“I bet he is,” was my curt reply.

“Now, I understand how much of an inconvenience it would be trying to get used to a new face instead of the one you have been familiar with. But I will need you to be as comfortable and open as you have been with Mr. Homer. Can you do that for me?”

What he asked of me was impossible. I wanted Clint’s therapy. I wanted him to smile at me instead, giving me the reassurance that I was not that totally damaged. But I nodded at Mr. Kenswood to just get this shit over with. If given the opportunity, I would bolt right out of his office in an instant.

“I would try,” I said.

“Good. S*x addiction is not anything to be ashamed of. Seventy percent of my clients come to me with that same issue. While s****l impulses are natural, it becomes negative when it is done in excess…”

His voice droned on and on until I tuned him out, my mind drifting to the man in the next office.