Broken Warrior Comes Back from War

[Author's note: Hey there! If you're here without reading the first part 'A virgin soldier goes to a brothel for the first time' I strongly encourage you to read it before this. It will be way more enjoyable, trust me |! It can be found on my profile!

I also encourage you to tell me your thoughts. Do you want more? Something else? Send me a message. I'm always here to deliver!]

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a free evening and no responsibilities. If it wasn't for Anatoly, he surely would spend it sleeping. His friend didn't let him rot in bed and dragged him along to the same tavern as a year ago. The door creaked open to a man carved by war, not sharpened or hardened, just broken, stitched back together by luck and liquor.

They dragged him out three hours after the shattered battlement gave way. Stone caught his right arm, crushed it between falling beams and rubble. For some reason, he couldn't scream or even make a sound, like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He was lucky Anatoly came looking for him. Even luckier to end up with nothing more than a twisted mess of bones that could somehow be put back together. They worked on him in a field tent, high on poppy wine, hands shaking, muttering that he might never grip a sword again.

Now, his fingers didn't move like they should. Sometimes they curled on their own, other times they refused to curl at all. He could barely hold a cup — but a blade? That was out of the question. Still, he wasn't dismissed or sent home. They gave him six weeks to recover, then told him to fight with whatever hand still worked. He had to grit his teeth and keep moving. Good thing he wasn't useless with his left hand — otherwise, he'd be rotting in a ditch instead of walking through this town.

Now, people noticed the tremor — the way he cradled his hand like it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. He didn't bother with the stares. He was here for a drink, nothing more.

At least his best buddy, Anatoly, was with him. Not as light as before, but still with his usual giggle after he drank a bit. They both really needed something strong to mute the images they bear now in their heads.

It was summer. Again. Bram couldn't believe what he'd lived through, not when the town looked the same. Candlelight glowed like it always had. Women in thin, transparent shirts drifted past, just like before. Their pointy nipples poking through the white shirts, seriously begging for attention. He didn't look. Before, maybe. Now? He felt like a different person who didn't deserve this stuff anymore.

"Ay, brother, what's with that face?" Anatoly's voice woke him up from his thoughts. He tipped his mug back for a deep sip, wiped his mouth. "You know it wasn't the last. Now it's just a break before the real storm comes. So try to cheer up, eh?"

Bram rolled his eyes and gripped the mug harder with his healthy hand, thinking. What did he even want? To get drunk with Anatoly, or...

He still had that little gift in his pocket. A useless thing. But it meant someone had cared enough to give it. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd made it all up and survived the year high on delusion.

He'd only known that woman for a day. A single, stupid day. Yet he'd clung to it like a man drowning. Like it was more than it was. Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it wasn't anything. But hell — it was something. And sometimes a good lie was better than nothing at all.

No family to welcome him back. No parade, no warm bed, no arms around his shoulders. Just Anatoly, still laughing through the cracks. And Sara. That whore he met once.

How could he forget her?

He took a few sips. Then a few more. Until that familiar buzz settled behind his eyes — soft, warm, almost like comfort. And then he decided.

"You can finish my drink, buddy. I'll see you later." He didn't even look back as he stepped out of the warmth. Anatoly just gave the cup a little nudge, pulling it closer without a second thought.

Outside, the night was cool and quiet. He pulled his coat tighter and started walking.

He had to find her. Ask her what that little gesture had meant. Maybe she'd smile. Maybe she'd even pull him into bed and let him forget for a night. He didn't feel guilty for wanting it when it came to her. If so, he felt excited and hot just by thinking about it. She wasn't his sweetheart. Hell, she barely knew him. But maybe... just maybe... she'd be glad to see him. And he had his coin ready, just in case she decided to play the whore again.

He headed to the same brothel he'd visited a year ago—the Red Door.

This time, he didn't hesitate. He pushed open the rusty door, and the dim, yellow light spilled out.

It looked different now.

No curtain separating the front from the working rooms — just a wide open space. Women in cut dresses revealing their bruised legs and breasts popping out from tight corsets, lounged around with the ease of routine, smoking, giggling, and getting groped by patrons.

For a moment, he felt out of place.

No red dress like the one she wore. No spark of recognition. Still, he drew in a slow breath and made his way to the counter.

The woman behind it wasn't the same one either. It wasn't Ana he remembered. This one looked younger, but not in a fresh way — more like a girl caught between nights of bad sleep and nasty addictions. Her heels were kicked up on the counter, and her makeup had smudged in odd ways, giving her a slightly ridiculous look she didn't seem to care about.

She didn't even look up. Just chewed her lip and stared past him.

"Ekhm, excuse me... Is Sara still here?"

He asked before he could stop himself, his voice sounding more unsure than he'd intended.

The moment the words left his mouth, anxiety gripped him. He didn't even know her last name. The thought made his face burn.

The girl behind the counter barely glanced up, but when she did, her expression was dripping with annoyance.

"Sara?" The girl snorted like it was the dumbest thing she'd heard all day. "If you mean that useless cow who kept messing up sales, she's long gone. Left months back. Thought she was special or some shit. Sold like she had straw for brains — barely brought in coin. Ran off with some fancy prick, big fuss about it. No one gave a damn, really, just made more work for the rest of us." She spoke in a bit of a rush and agitation, then took a long, shaky sip from a clear glass. Her eyes flicked up, catching the weight of his coin pouch — or maybe just the look in his eyes. Her voice dropped, slick and quick... "But hey — if you're after someone proper, I can get you a real girl. One who knows what she's doing."

The half of his lips twitched annoyingly.

"Do you know where she is now?"

The girl shrugged, switching one foot for the other on the table.

"If you're asking for details, no clue. Does it even matter?" she said with a dramatic sigh. "The guy she left with looked rich — like, actually rich. Never seen anyone like him come through here. Total asshole too. Cockiest prick I ever met. Hung around way too long, refused to pay, caused a damn scene..."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, sure, we all want that kind of coin, but Sara? That bitch should've known her place."

Bram stopped listening somewhere halfway through. He just nodded out of habit, eyes already drifting toward the exit. She kept talking — but he didn't care. He turned and walked out to press his back against the door.

Rich bastard or not, he had to find her.

Truth be told, he didn't even know where to start. Maybe the drink was making him bold or perhaps just stupid — either way, he had no plan. Still, he headed toward the center of town, where the night always came alive. Open stalls, cheap wine, wandering minstrels, girls with teasing clothes and smirks — it wasn't a real festival, just the usual mess of a summer night. But if she were anywhere, maybe she'd be there.

The town square was packed — all heat, noise, and sweaty bodies bumping shoulder to shoulder. Amidst the chaos, he came across a few alcohol stalls and eagerly spent his money there. As he leaned against the counter of one hot wine stand, sipping his drink, he caught something in the corner of his eye—long brown hair, a body-tight red dress, and a certain confidence in the way she walked.

His heart stuttered. And his hand landed on her shoulder before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me—" His voice cracked as she turned to face him.

He bit his lip when he realized it wasn't her. This girl seemed younger and scared of him. "Huh? Do you need something?"

Even her voice was different. Softer. Not so confident. She eyed him up and down with curiosity, and then adjusted her corset to bounce her bust a bit. He didn't know if it was supposed to be a flirty or nervous reaction.

Bram blinked hard. Swallowed it all down. Then just waved a hand, muttered something, and turned away, gripping his drink like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He was barely standing at this point. Just him, the night, the cheap wine buzzing in his veins, and whatever bottle he could find next. He almost laughed to himself, wondering if she had ever existed. Maybe the little brooch in his pocket was just another lie he'd told himself to get through the days.

And then, a gentle hand brushed his arm.

He turned fast, already scowling, ready to snap. Another drunk? Another pickpocket?

That half-smile. Red lips. Long brown hair. The face that haunted every one of his dreams — the good ones and the pathetic ones.

"Excuse me," she said with mock sternness, lips twitching. "You cut the line. I'm pretty sure I was here first."

Line? What line?

He blinked, confused, then looked over his shoulder. A group of people stood behind him, waiting for... something. A food stand? A puppet show? It didn't matter. Nothing did — not now.

"Sara?" he asked in a hoarse voice. He pulled back his hood slightly, revealing the bruises and the tired eyes.

Her face shifted instantly — her smile dropped, her eyes wide like she'd just seen a ghost.

"Yes?" she breathed. "Who are you? What... what happened to you?"

He smiled as much as he could.

"You don't remember me, huh?" His voice cracked. "Already moved on? Just—just found some guy and forgot I existed?" He let out a breathless laugh. "While I was out there holdin' onto you like... some stupid fucking anchor, tryin' to stay alive, thinking 'bout your face when everything else was burnin'..." He swayed a little, swallowed hard.

"Do you even remember who you gave this to? Or do you just... hand out little pieces of yourself to every sad bastard that stumbles by?"

He pulled the brooch from his coat pocket — still intact, still bearing the delicate inscription of her name.

She froze.

"Oh my..." she murmured, and narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you that warrior..."

Was that a mocking lilt in her voice? Or was he just too bitter, too raw to tell the difference?

"I remember," she said, her gaze flickering toward the brooch. "I remember who I gave it to."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, to some quiet corner. "Gods, you've changed. I was thinking about you more often than I care to admit." Then she giggled and covered her mouth. ''Why are you so bitter? It was just one encounter, sweetie. I didn't promise the world to you. Neither did you to me."

She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking if no familiar face was eavesdropping.

"Your name... it was Bram, right? You never told me your last name. I never told you mine." She gave a small shrug. "I can't even imagine what you went through. But you look..."

Her head tilted slightly, and she touched his chin with her long nail.

"... like you need something, sweetheart."

His breath hitched.

He grabbed her hand — not gently—yanking it off his arm and pressing it behind her, flat against the wall. He leaned in, face inches from hers.

"I know what it was. But I don't care. I don't care if you've got some rich fuck now. I knew you for a day — and then spent a year clinging to that goddamn memory." His hand tightened around his wrist, and his breath got ragged, while his forehead pressed against hers. "And you knew what you were doing when you gave me that gift. You knew exactly how it would end up. That I was lonely and scared. So the least you could do is have some fucking decency and—"

She smirked.

Arched her back — slowly — pressing her breasts into his chest.

"... and what? Cat got your tongue?" A slow, mocking chuckle. "Or were you expecting me to drop to my knees and worship the brave little warrior? Is that it, honey?"

He stared into her eyes for a moment without blinking. His nostrils flared as he finally let out the breath he'd been holding.

''Fucking yes. That's exactly what I was expecting.''

His free hand fell on the small of her back and slid down to grip her ass. As much as he could with his limp fingers. He leaned closer, aching to press his lips onto hers.

She turned her face to the side, a smirk not disappearing from her lips.

"Ah-ah. I'm married, did you forget? My husband will kill both you and me if he finds out."

Bram ended up with his lips pressed against her cheek. Then they traveled lower to her neck. He sank his teeth into her exposed flesh.

"Like I care about your husband. I don't give a fuck who he is or what he could do. With all I've seen and survived, what difference does it make now?"

She closed her eyes at his bruising kiss and bit her lower lip.

"Hm, that's what I love about you. You hate being told what to do, hm? How unusual for a soldier."

He rolled his eyes and released her wrist to let his hand land on her small waist. He slowly slid up and, as he didn't see any resistance from her, he ended up cupping her full breast in his palm.

"Come with me. Leave that idiot behind and just come with me." His voice lowered to a whisper, as if he were holding back tears. "Please. I need you."

She was his lifeline. He couldn't lose her now. He wanted someone to be happy to see him. To care to see him come back alive. It wasn't like he had anywhere to take her. No plan at all. All he could think of was the cramped little house he shared with Anatoly — rented from an old man who forgot to charge them rent half the time.

"I don't think I'm in a position to cheat on my husband... But I just can't stand seeing you so... desperate."

She placed her hand on his while he groped her. Her head fell back, and she gasped softly when his thumb brushed her nipple.

"Screw him. Divorce him. Don't act like you married him for anything other than getting out of the whorehouse." His ragged breath hit her neck, while he planted heated kisses down her throat.

She giggled.

"Ah, look at you, thinking you know me so well." She traced her finger on his jaw. "Alright then. Take me where you want. Let me praise the little warrior..." She leaned closer to press her lips to his ear, "... like you imagine I should."

Bram didn't want to risk Anatoly ruining the mood, so he decided to find an inn and finally put the saved coin to use. Somehow, as they walked, Sara ended up at his side, on the right. The side that still hurt.

He moved slowly, eyes scanning for a decent place. Then, without a word, she reached out and took his hand.

His fingers didn't move. He wanted to curl them around hers, to hold on — but the nerves didn't listen. The message never reached them.

She looked up at him and said nothing. Just slipped her arm around his instead, her hand resting gently on his forearm. Like she understood.

Eventually, they found an Inn with free rooms. The furnishings were pretty poor, and the bed didn't seem like it could handle much. But it didn't matter, as long as they could be alone.

She sat down on the mattress, testing it with a little bounce. "So... I'm guessing you don't own a house? Or is there some reason I'm not allowed to visit it?"

He shrugged off his cape and pulled his shirt over his head as he walked to the window, shutting the shutters with a quiet clack. "Not really. I'm from the North. Got a family house there, but... It's probably full of squatters by now." He glanced at her over his shoulder, his gaze trailing over her without shame. "Stopped goin' back a while ago. So I rent a place with my friend. But tonight... yeah, I don't want him around."

She nodded and started taking off her jewelry — earrings, necklaces, one by one. "I see. I used to rent, too. Don't need to anymore, so..." Her voice softened as she slid her dress straps off her shoulders, her back still turned to him. "... I was just curious. If you plan on kidnapping me from my husband, where will I be kept?" She grinned cheekily and let the dress fall to her hips. He smirked, feeling the familiar warmth in his groin.

"I'm not forcing you... You're coming willingly. There's a difference."

He murmured while climbing onto the bed, right behind her. His teeth sank into her shoulder, at which she gasped and bit her lip.

"Oh? No basement or attic to lock me up? Not using my hole as a toy when you need relief?"

He stopped biting and furrowed, looking up to see if she's serious.

"I'm not sure if I should be concerned, or are you just trying to dirty talk me?"

Her eyes widened when she got a different response than she expected. A small blush crept on her cheeks.

"Sorry... I sometimes get ahead of myself when I'm in the mood."

Bram snorted and kissed the bite mark. His tongue traced her collarbone as his hands slid to the front of her bare torso. He cupped both her breasts in his hands, gently weighing them and fondling.

"Don't apologize." He murmured and brought his body closer. His front pressed against her arching back. "Take off the rest." A whisper tinged with command, "I want to feel your body on mine. Fuck—I don't want it, I need it."

He squeezed one of her breasts harder, earning a little groan from her.

"I want to make love and cry in your arms, and also fuck you senseless until you can't walk. I want both. I can't decide what matters more at this moment."

She gently took his hands from her body and stood up to face him directly. He was kneeling on the bed and watching her every move.

Sara slowly pushed her dress down to her ankles, swaying her hips to a silent tune that played only in her head.

Her fingers played teasingly along the lace of her panties, leaving him speechless.

She turned around and looked over her shoulder, making eye contact as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She started to push them down, inch by agonizing inch.

The process was torturous and deliberate. She bent forward slightly as she went, her hair falling off her shoulders, obscuring her face. She made sure to arch her back, sticking out her ass, giving him a view that made his mouth go dry.

When her underwear fell to her ankles, she stepped out of it and covered the front with her hand while turning slowly to the side. He grabbed her hips, digging his fingers into her pliant skin. In that moment, nothing else mattered—only pulling her close and guiding her to where he needed her most. She slid one hand up her navel and flat stomach before resting it on his arm. Her other hand followed, gliding to his shoulder. Giving him a clear view of her pink, puffy lips below, just begging to be touched.

A short gasp escaped his lips when she straddled his lap, pressing her body against his. Her hot skin against his.

"Now it's time for your pants. Need help with that?" She whispered while grinding her heat against his growing bulge, making it damp from her arousal.

He grabbed her ass with his left hand, squeezing and kneading while she moved on top of him.

"I can do it myself. But if you were nice enough to help me..."

She didn't need another nudge. Soon enough, she peeled the fabric that clung to his body with her own two hands. Looking up into his eyes, lovingly. Like she really wanted to see him happy.

Bram was still a bit tipsy, still not believing enough that this stunning woman was naked and eager in front of him. He didn't want to just fuck her. A simple, short act like this would be insulting to his dignity. He needed more. He needed to feel from inside, and to feel like he deserved this and wasn't just a piece of meat to be replaced in the army.

She seemed to read his thoughts without the need for him to speak them out loud, got in between his spread thighs, with her head peeking just enough for him to see her eyes. She took his hard cock in her mouth, sucking without a second thought, pulling him more and more into bliss without saying a word. Her hands fondled everything around it. His balls, his inner thighs, his lower stomach, and even up to his chest. All he could do was moan quietly and tense around her mouth. Then around her throat. As she pulled more and more. Her saliva escaping from the corner of her lips, her head moving away to catch a breath. His eyes rolled up at this experience, and he didn't hold back from exploding right down her throat. Bram let out a soft laugh, as he couldn't believe himself. And she swallowed it all, tasting him on her eager tongue.

His heartbeat stopped for a moment. And when he looked down and saw her smiling, he almost couldn't stop the tears in his eyes. She climbed on top of him without a second thought.

"Don't tell me you're done? I'm just getting started."

She murmured against his neck. Then her body pushed his against the bed as she settled on top of him, with her thighs straddling him tightly.

He just groaned, but he could feel himself getting hard again. With her help, that is. As she stroked him slowly and lovingly, circling the tip of his cock with reverence.

He put his hands on her thighs, feeling the softness and the strength. She wasn't a fragile girl. His Sara was a seasoned whore with a heart that needed to be put in place. Not that he thought he was in the right place. But he did hope for it. Then, without a second thought, he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance. She moved her hips around, accommodating him, slowly pushing more and more inside. Until her greedy inside walls were squeezing him for all it was worth.

She pushed until she could press her pubic bones against his. A sweaty skin-to-skin contact. Staying like this for a long minute, letting him feel how it is to be buried inside her warmth... before she started thrusting and moving. He moaned and couldn't help himself. The sensitive parts of him touch the most receptive parts of her. And she knew just how to do it.. How to move on top of him, so both of them could end up whimpering and in bliss.

He put his hands on her waist. Then the left one got to her bouncing breast. She was looming above him, moaning and breathing so sweetly he felt close to the orgasm just out of it alone.

She started going faster, letting her skin slap against his... Her nails dug into his chest, her whole body focused on just bringing him - and herself to the peak of what a human can feel. What they deserve to feel.

He brought one hand between her legs, while she bounced on top of him. His fingers circled and rubbed her clit as much as he could, his eyes focused on hers... until they both came undone. First her, as she let out a shaky laugh, collapsing on top of him. And then he followed, coming right inside her, filling her with all he had to offer. Painting her insides white. Getting her to moan into his ear and moving her hips gently to draw out every last drop from his cock.

He ended up in his arms, breathless, barely feeling like he still could think or breathe properly. He just managed to mutter:

"Leave that bastard. Please... be mine..."

She laughed against his chest, leaving kisses on it.

"Again, my sweet warrior. No promises." She licked his nipple and then pressed her body fully against his. "But I will think of it. You can keep on dreaming about me. I will be there anytime you need someone." Another kiss, this time on his neck. "Maybe one day you could marry me for real. I will always wait for you."

Bram didn't want to hear another word. He pulled her closer, until their bodies were coiled together, and he could rest his breath against her breasts — warm, steady, safe. He fell asleep like that, feeling loved for the very first time in his life.

Unfortunately for him, he woke to an empty bed. No body beside him. No warmth holding him together.

He was tired — eyes heavy, brain dull. Not in the mood to cry. Not in the mood to think.

All he saw was a note, written in a rush. Barely readable.

"You are lovable, Bram. Really. Trust me when I say it."

He sighed and flipped the paper over.

"I can't leave my husband. Not yet. No matter how much I want to. But please — keep the brooch. Do think of me. I promise I'll be there when you need me most."

He crushed the note in his hand and let his head fall against the pillow. What was he supposed to feel? Fulfilled, after one night? No. It wasn't enough. Knowing she loved him wasn't enough.

He needed to feel it.

Maybe it was the wrong time and the wrong place.

But he made himself a promise: He'd see her again. No matter how many nights it took to convince her.