Retrograde

Retrograde | Chapter 6

Author's note:

Hello my dears, 

Thank you as always for your patience, and kind messages as you wait for the chapter.  Your comments, votes, DMs and Tweets continue to inspire and motivate me to keep going.

Warning: 🔞🔞🔞 I'm conscious that many are still observing religious holidays.  Please be advised that this chapter included profanity and mature content.  Please read at your discretion.

I forfeited heavier editing of this chapter in favour of just getting it out to you as quickly as possible.  Please forgive the mistakes.

Hope you're all well, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this installment!

Love,
Ames

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Previously on Retrograde:

"Don't come near my daughter or me again," Eren warns.

"Or what?" Snow qualifies indignantly. Eren smirks angrily before responding,

"Or I'll unleash hell."

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Two weeks earlier

"Place your bets, please," the croupier calls to the gamblers spaced out in front of him. They each slide their chips across the felt, placing them over the numbered squares of the Roulette table.

Alptekin downs the last of his martini and leans back in his chair, drawing a deep drag of his cigar. His arm is draped around a buxom, bottled blonde who smells as sickly sweet as a Victoria's Secret store.

Her big, over-drawn lips are painted an atrocious shade of red, and she gives them a provocative lick when she sees his selection.

"Red 22..." she giggles with a wink, "...just like me." She wraps her plump lips around her index finger and sucks for dramatic effect before scratching her long acrylic nails seductively across his groin. He hardens like an over-excited schoolboy at her touch.

Alptekin looks down and grabs her jaw with two fingers - cigar still in hand, and licks her open mouth, uncaring of anyone watching the forty-year-old openly trying to get his fuck on in the middle of The Plaza Hotel casino.

"Your "red 22" will be wrapped around my cock as soon as I'm finished with this business meeting," he states loudly enough for everyone to hear. A waitress groans as she places a new dirty martini next to his chips. Another day, another monied-up fuckwit, she thinks with an eye roll.

"Hmm...I can't wait," she breathes. "You fuck me so good, Daddy."

"No more bets," the croupier declares loudly, desperate to end this feral display of unnecessary affection. The clicks of the Roulette wheel thankfully draw their attention back from fucking to winning.

Alptekin's cell vibrates against his chest in his suit jacket pocket. He pulls it out, sees "Aydan Bolat" displayed across the screen and denies the call, shoving the phone quickly back into his pocket.

"Black 35. Black 35 - congratulations, Sir," the croupier says to the man sitting beside Alptekin.

"Better luck next time, mate," the fellow gambler says cheekily, turning to Alptekin. "Though I dare say, you've already won the night," he adds, flicking his eyes to Alptekin's lady friend, who is now indiscreetly draping her breasts across the table while she places another bet.