Buttery Buns ch.5

"Yes, he was. Want to see some pictures? I'll show you family albums with photos after dinner."

Damn. He needs to stop this. He clears his throat and asks Daphne, "Is there dessert?"

Daphne blinks. "Oh, I didn't have time, but I have some ice cream in the fridge..."

"No need," he says, getting up. "I really don't need any. Thank you for the delicious dinner."

"You're welcome," she says, blushing with a smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

That smile, along with her shining blue eyes, sets a fire within him. He quickly excuses himself and leaves the dining room.

Harry retrieves his suitcase from the rented car and heads straight for the bedroom. It's only when he's standing beneath the shower, feeling the hot water needles caress his skin, that he contemplates his peculiar return home. Everything appears utterly unbelievable. Did he conjure all of this up? Could he have just had dinner in his own home with three remarkable women, all of whom are now tantalizingly out of reach? Daphne Greengrass. My goodness. Not only does he no longer harbor any resentment toward her, but he also yearns for her once more. During dinner, his gaze barely leaves her lips. Every time she licks her lips, his manhood stirs with desire. Susan's flirtatious behavior also reignites his adolescent longing for her. And that feisty vixen Mia presents a challenge. Throughout the evening, he feels her eyes on him, as if she were sizing him up for dinner. All he can do is concentrate on his plate, struggling to keep his focus and thoughts on the food. The girl is roughly the same age as when he dated her mother, but she's much more assertive. In fact, she's quite the flirt. The memory of what she said to him before dinner makes his manhood harden. Stop it. He shouldn't be feeling this way about the girl. She isn't even eighteen yet. Despite his conscience's reproach, his desire remains unwavering. He takes hold of his manhood. Blood rushes immediately, and he closes his eyes. Three pairs of longing eyes and lips appear in his mind, intensifying his desire. He reaches climax in an instant with a suppressed groan. Damn it. When was the last time he felt this way? After two years of being a recluse in college because of Daphne, he dated as a form of revenge, changing girls every few months, refusing to give anyone his heart. He used the excuse that his heart had been shattered, and he had nothing to offer. He continued this lifestyle for years after graduating from college, and then he grew tired of it. Wild sex just didn't fulfill him, and it wasn't just a temporary solution. Later, he remained lonely and unsatisfied. Hell. He could be a Don Juan, but he longed for love. And now, back in his hometown and childhood home, he feels it. Long-lost love, genuine care, and innocent adoration. His reckless manhood had better not ruin these precious feelings.

After his shower, Harry works on a rather intricate runic security system until ten before turning in for the night. Lying in bed, he doesn't feel sleepy despite the long day. He Susan at five in the morning to finish up some work at the office before his afternoon trip.

Feeling thirsty, he makes his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The doors to Daphne's and Mia's rooms are closed, and the house is enveloped in silence. He moves silently on tiptoes, avoiding making any noise.

For a moment, he gazes longingly at the doors. The fact that Daphne is sleeping in the same house still stirs desire in him. What the hell is wrong with him? He shouldn't be feeling this way about that woman. She broke his heart. Damn it. But his manhood seems to have a mind of its own – he hasn't forgotten how good it felt with her.

Damn it.

He pours himself a glass of ice-cold water and drinks it in three big sips. He rinses the glass and places it on the shelf. Still feeling restless, he opens the patio doors instead of returning to his room. The fresh night air immediately cools him down, and he takes a deep breath before settling on the wicker couch. His dad used to spend a lot of time out here in his later years.

Damn it. He misses the old man. He could set aside nostalgia when he was away from home, but now there's no escape. His birth mother, dissatisfied with the small town, left them in search of better opportunities in the outside world. His dad stayed and ran the family business, raising them on his own for many years before he and Susan's aunt, Amelia, blended their families. Amelia was a loving mother who treated him as her own and dedicated her life to the bakery, just like his dad. Her death after an unexpected cancer diagnosis was a blow to his family, especially his old man. He expected the worst, but he survived another eight years without her, thanks to his stepsister who never left him.

The door creaks, and Harry turns his head. "Daphne," he murmurs, and his heart quickens. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she says, softly closing the door behind her. "I couldn't sleep, and then I heard noises in the house. I thought I should check on you. Is everything okay? Do you need anything?"

Damn it. He falls silent, struggling with the swirling emotions inside him. His breath is loud and uneven, and his manhood swells. Damn it, he's never seen her in a nightshirt before, and he stares at her like an idiot. The gown isn't particularly revealing, but the laced neckline showcases her marble collarbone and hints of her shoulders, while the soft fabric clings to her feminine curves. He has an overwhelming urge to embrace her and caress her.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," he says, shifting on the seat to make room for her. "Would you like to sit?"

"Sure, thanks," she replies.

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Daphne speaks up, "Listen, Max. I... I owe you a formal apology. I'm so sorry I hurt you."

"No, you don't owe me anything." She had written him a letter of apology. He burned the letter, but he remembers every word in it, especially the last sentence: "My heart will always belong to you."

She inhales deeply. "I need to tell you this in person. I wanted to do it twenty years ago. When I came back home to see my parents for Christmas, I came to your house. I stood outside your window all night, but I didn't have the courage to knock..."

"You did that?" He envisions her standing alone in the darkness for hours. "You shouldn't have. It must have been cold. What if you had gotten sick?"

"It wouldn't have mattered," she says. "I would have deserved it. You can't imagine how much I regretted my choice. You were right. I didn't have to agree to marry Theodore. It was foolish of me. But my dad made it clear that not only the restaurant's future depended on me but also the happiness of our entire family. And you weren't around..."

She cited the same reasons in her letter twenty years ago, and he wasn't convinced or didn't want to be convinced. But now, sitting beside her on a tranquil night in his childhood home, the regret on her face and the sincerity in her voice leave him with no room to resist doing what's right. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder.

"Stop blaming yourself, Daphne. What happened is in the past. Tell me later what happened. Mia told me her father was a violent man. Did he hurt you?"

Daphne paused before speaking, as if recalling the past pained her. "At first, he wasn't that bad. For about a year, everything was okay between us. I didn't love him, but I tried to please him. And then he started drinking because the farm wasn't doing well. He yelled at me for trivial things, and then he started hitting me...," she trailed off, her voice quivering.

"What did he do?" he exclaimed in disbelief. He couldn't imagine anyone using force against Daphne, the sweetest person he knew.

"Then he would apologize, but when he drank too much, his temper would flare up, and he couldn't control it."

"My God. I'm so sorry." He pulls her closer, wanting to erase the traumatic experience from her memory. This must be the reason she stays away from alcohol and ensures her daughter does the same.

"It's okay. For most of the time, I managed to hide in my room before it got worse. But after Mia was born, I was afraid he would do the same to her. Sometimes he yelled at her when she wouldn't stop crying. I left with Mia when she was two, and I never went back. I went to London, as far as I could get with the little savings I had at the time. Then I found a lawyer and filed for divorce due to domestic violence."

"Is it over between you two, or do you still have contact?"

"It's over, thank God," Daphne says with a shiver. "After the divorce, he found me in London. My dad gave him the address. He wanted to win me back, telling me he was seeking anger management therapy, but I refused. Then I moved to Paris. Since then, he hasn't bothered me for years."

Daphne and Mia lived in Paris until last year. She returned to Hogsmeade to take care of her mother, who passed away just two months ago. Their family restaurant had closed over ten years ago, and her father left Oak Springs shortly after, abandoning his family.

"I wish I had known about this earlier," he says, his throat tight, clenching his fist. He'd love nothing more than to confront the guy for hurting his girl. "Why didn't you come back to Oak Springs earlier?"

"I couldn't," she whispers. "I didn't want Theodore to find me, and I didn't trust my father. Plus, after what I did to you, the whole town thought I was a bitch."

"Not at all," he said, though she might be right. He had received a lot of sympathy from people who knew him, although their pity almost killed him.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Max," she says. "Let me enjoy being with you for a while. Okay?"

"Of course, Daphne." He embraces her and pulls her close. They sit in silence without a word, savoring the quiet, cozy moment.

"Do you remember how you used to spend the night in my room?" he asks.

Daphne's house is just a few blocks from his, and her parents didn't pay as much attention to her as they did to her younger sister.

"Of course I do. How could I forget?" she whispers. "Those were the sweetest days of my life."

He holds her tighter. Her hair has the lavender scent, probably from her shampoo. It's strangely arousing to him at the moment, and he buries his nose in her hair to inhale it greedily. Daphne presses her face against his chest, and he feels her arms trembling. He gently pulls her back to look at her face, which is stained with tears.

"Are you okay, Daphne?"

She smiles, wiping away tears. "Yes. Oh God, I'm so sorry, Max. I don't know what came over me. I haven't cried in years. I guess I just haven't felt this safe in a long time."

"You don't feel safe. Why? Is it because..." He didn't get to finish his sentence as Daphne leaned in and pressed her lips to his. He groans as her silky sweetness engulfs his senses, and he doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, deepening the kiss. She tastes exactly as he remembers—silky, warm, and addicting. His body quickly responds to the need of having her. Wrapping his arms around her neck, he pulls her onto his lap, straddling him.

His hands feverishly caress her back through the satin nightshirt, making her moan with pleasure. Breaking their kiss, he undoes the cord around the neckline of her shirt, allowing her to slide it off her shoulders, revealing the enticing cleavage inch by inch. Needless to say, there's no bra in sight. The sight of her ample, creamy breasts capped with dark areolas makes his cock jump. He holds them both in his hands. They're much heavier and fuller than he remembers. This Daphne is one hundred percent woman and a hundred times sexier than the girl he knew twenty years ago. He doesn't wait to take one in his mouth. Daphne gasps and grinds her soft behind against his hardened manhood. Watching Daphne's dreamy eyes, he sucks her nipples one by one. They seem thicker and rounder than he remembers, but they respond just the same. Daphne writhes on his lap, her juices soaking through the layers of fabric between them. "Oh God, Max," she whispers, her glistening eyes captivating him even more. "I've missed this."