Filthy Marcellos: Antony

by Bethany-Kris

  It seemed like the older they got, and the longer they were married, more time slipped away. Cecelia never forgot to remind Antony in her own way that she was there, though. He didn’t need the reminders, but he used each and every one of them to give Cecelia his love and attention because if she asked for it, she clearly needed it. He didn’t need to know why she did, he simply handed it over.

  When Cecelia was about thirty steps from Antony’s hidden spot, her walk came to an abrupt stop. Flower petals—tulips, her favorite kind—had been scattered over the driveway. If she followed them like Antony hoped she would, Cecelia would find they led to something special just for her.

  She followed them.

  Grinning, Antony shoved his hands in his pockets and kept to the shadows the trees afforded as he trailed behind his wife where she couldn’t see him. The tulip petals veered off the driveway closer to the mansion and into the slushy February snow on the ground. Knowing Cecelia liked her heels, Antony had cleared a path for her so her feet wouldn’t get cold and wet as she searched for him and her surprise.

  As Cecelia slipped around the side of the house, still following the trail, Antony emerged from the treeline. He waited the long minutes he knew it would take for her to reach the back of the house before he jogged the length of the west wing. Coming around the back of the house, Antony found Cecelia where she had stopped at the back of the building that enclosed their indoor pool.

  She stood in the middle of a huge square marked off by ribbons. More tulip petals were scattered around her feet.

  “What do you think?” Antony asked.

  Cecelia spun on her heels, damn near slipping on the snowy ground. “Mio Dio, you scared me, Antony!”

  Antony laughed darkly. “Where did you think I was?”

  “Somewhere, I don’t know … stop laughing at me.”

  He sobered and waved at the section of ribbons. “What do you think, is here a good spot?”

  Cecelia eyed him curiously. “For what?”

  “Well, most people call it a guesthouse, I suppose. But I figured we could call it a retreat for Cecelia that only the most special people get to use when they stay here.”

  A wide grin broke out on her face, making Antony’s own grow.

  “You’re going to build me a house outside of our house?”

  “I told you, a retreat.”

  “Call a house a house, Antony.”

  “Fine. Yes, a house. You’ve been saying you wanted a guest house to go along with the pool, but you need something, too. Somewhere you can hide away from the boys for five minutes. Or me, even.”

  Cecelia reached out with her hand and Antony took it in his own, drawing his wife close to his chest. He reveled in her warmth and scent, loving her more. He always loved her more every time he was able to hold her.

  “I never want to be away from you,” she whispered.

  “So, no retreat for Cecelia, then? I haven’t broke ground, yet.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.”

  Antony smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Why the ribbons?” Cecelia asked.

  “Proverbial breaking ground. It’s too frozen right now to stick a damn shovel in.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Spring,” Antony promised. “And you get to design every square inch of it.”

  Cecelia’s smile only widened. “You spoil me.”

  “I do because you deserve it. Happy wife, happy life, you know.”

  Before he could react, his wife leaned up, caught his jaw in her hands, and pulled him in for a searing kiss that instantly had his blood and cock thickening while desires raged. Her hands fisted into his jacket while Antony’s roamed lower on her back until he was palming her ass beneath her jacket.

  “Where are the boys?” she asked, breathless and hazy-eyed.

  “Away for the evening.”

  “I don’t mean this in a bad way, but thank God.”

  Antony kissed her again, claiming her mouth with hard strikes of his tongue to hers as her taste intermingled with his. Cecelia didn’t shy away from the roughness of his lips and teeth sweeping over hers as he pushed her lower half into his body.

  He wanted this woman to feel what she did to him—what she did for him—everyday, all day.

  “Too cold out here,” he heard her mumble against his

  “In the house, Cecelia, hurry.”

  It took him far too long to get her inside. Cecelia wouldn’t stop touching him. Her mouth kept finding his in the cold air, stopping their trek to the back of the house. By the time he got the back door closed, Cecelia was shivering. Her hands were still wandering, though.

  Antony yanked his wife’s coat off at the same time she undid his pants. Cold palms slipped under his boxer-briefs and he jerked at the cool sensation encompassing his hard shaft. Antony ached from the inside out as she pumped him slowly, her grip tightening at just the right spots to make him bury a groan into her neck.

  Backing his wife into a wall, Antony placed his one hand beside Cecelia’s head while his other worked up her dress. As she jerked him off, he dipped under her panties to find her wet and hot for him. Cecelia sighed the sweetest, softest sound, her hand skipping in its beat on his dick as he spread the lips of her sex and entered her with two fingers.

  Antony didn’t want to waste time. They had so little of it as it was.

  “I want you coming all over my fingers and mouth before I fuck you against this wall, Tesoro. I want you screaming my name so loud the sound will be permanently embedded in the fucking walls.”

  Cecelia shuddered, her hand squeezing his cock harder. “Yeah?”

  “Mmhmm. And then I want you naked on a blanket in front of the fireplace for the rest of the night. Wine, chocolate, you, me, and nothing but skin. Sound good to you?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Let go of my dick and let me get to work, then.”

  The moment her hand released his throbbing cock, Antony caught Cecelia’s wrist in his palm and pinned both of her arms to the wall. He didn’t just want to taste his wife’s pussy as she came on his tongue, he wanted to taste all of her. Cecelia whined and writhed under her husband’s attention as he kissed, bit and sucked on her neck, over her collarbones and down to where a slight bit of cleavage was exposed from the dip in her dress. Antony yanked on the stretchy material, ripping it and baring more of her skin and chest for him.

  Cecelia sucked in a hard breath. “I liked this dress!”

  “I’ll—”

  “Buy me a new one. Shut up, Antony, and fuck me.”

  Antony chuckled. His wife knew him far too well.

  He moved the lace cups covering her breasts out of the way, lavishing the same attention on her tits as he had her mouth and neck. Drawing her nipple between his teeth, Antony bit down just hard enough to let his wife feel the sting of the bite and leave his mark behind.

  “Love seeing me on your body,” Antony murmured against Cecelia’s skin.

  “You’re all over me, Antony.”

  Yeah, he sure as fuck was.

  Tired of the clothing separating them, Antony helped his wife out of her dress, unclipped her bra to let it fall to the floor, and shed his own clothes as well. On his knees, Antony hooked Cecelia’s leg over his shoulder before laying a soft kiss above the hood of her clit.

  “So beautiful,” he told her. “Always, Tesoro.”

  Cecelia’s fingers found purchase in her husband’s hair as his mouth descended on her sex. He wanted Cecelia’s juices flooding his mouth and her calling his name. It was the best way he’d ever spent a damn evening. Tunneling his tongue between her silky folds, Antony found the wetness he was looking for. She was hot and tart in his mouth and Cecelia didn’t hold back a single sound as his tongue worked between her slit to her clit in fast, harsh strokes. He knew her body well, he knew how to work it the way she liked to get her shaking, crying out, and coming quick.

  Keeping up the pace of his tongue, Antony thrust two finge
rs into her clenching, soaked channel. Her inner muscles hugged him tight, her hips grinding into his mouth and hand as he curled his digits to find just the right spot. He knew when he found it. Cecelia shouted, her pussy clamped down around him, and her clit pulsed under his tongue.

  “Cristo … Antony!”

  He didn’t give her time to recover as she trembled through the orgasm. Antony was on his feet in a second, turning his wife to the wall, and fitting himself between her thighs. Lifting her leg just enough to fit his cock along her slit, Antony flexed his hips once and pushed into heaven with one long stroke.

  She was bliss to him. She had always been. It took his breath away every time he had the pleasure of fucking his wife. Nothing ever felt the same. She was new—her sounds, smell, and the feel of her around him.

  Pure love. Carnal ecstasy.

  Perfection.

  Cecelia crumpled against the wall as Antony’s cock bottomed out in her pussy. He pressed his hand to her lower back and used his other to pin her arms over her head. She was under his mercy, unable to move, and so willing to be used and loved by him.

  Because he didn’t know how to take Cecelia Marcello without love in his heart.

  Tortuously slow, Antony pumped his hips, letting his wife feel every inch of his cock spreading her open and filling her. Cecelia tried backing her beautiful ass into him, but his hold on her kept her in place.

  “Stop teasing me,” Cecelia hissed.

  “Patience is a virtue.”

  “And I’m a spoiled woman because of you. I want you feel you fucking me hard, Antony.”

  “Mmm, words like that will get you everything. You’re so fucking full of me, Cecelia. Soaking me so good. God, you smell like heaven.”

  Cecelia whimpered. The sound came out desperate and aching. “Fuck me.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Fuck me.”

  Antony didn’t hold a thing back as he pounded into his wife from behind. Cecelia’s arms strained in his grasp as her cries bounced off the walls. The sounds of their fucking burrowed straight into Antony’s heart, making his cock harder enough to pound concrete.

  “Christ, that feels good,” Cecelia mumbled.

  “Been too long,” Antony forced out between his clenched teeth. “Love fucking you. God, you make me crazy.”

  More than anything, Antony adored hearing his name in his wife’s mouth. Like he was the only man for her. Like only he could do for her what she needed and wanted. The harder he fucked her, the rougher his thrusts became and the more forcefully he pinned her body to the wall, the better Cecelia seemed to like it.

  “Yeah, fuck, way too long,” Antony breathed. “There is nothing fucking better than you, Cecelia.”

  “I’m going to come,” Cecelia whispered.

  Fuck, yes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “We’re always going to be like this, right?” Cecelia asked quietly.

  Antony hummed under his breath, wrapping his arm around his wife’s lower back as she stretched over his body under the blanket. Their makeshift bed on the floor wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it worked.

  “Together, you mean?”

  “In love,” she replied.

  “Yes. I can’t think of a time when I haven’t been in love with you.”

  Cecelia cleared her throat, refusing to meet his gaze as she asked, “Never?”

  “Nope. Not since I met you, anyway.”

  “So, there’s never been someone else for you?”

  Antony didn’t understand what his wife was asking. “I was with other women before you, but you knew that.”

  “No, I mean … after we—”

  “Cecelia! What the hell?”

  His wife hid her face from his view, but Antony could practically feel her cheeks burning red. “I had to ask, Antony. I had to.”

  God, why?

  “Have I ever made you think there was someone else?” he asked.

  Cecelia shook her head.

  “Why ask me that, Tesoro? There’s never been anyone but you since we met. I haven’t even thought about stepping out on you or having someone on the side. I’m not … that’s not my thing, okay. You’re mine. You’re all I need and want. You always have been, Cecelia.”

  “But …”

  “What?” Antony asked.

  “Johnathan and Kate. We didn’t really talk about what happened at that dinner last month. You knew he had a mistress, didn’t you?”

  Antony sighed harshly. “Yes, but he knows I don’t approve and I’ve never met the woman.”

  “But you knew.”

  “So?”

  “Wouldn’t it be easy for you, too? Like it is with John?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I love you and he doesn’t love Kate.”

  “My father loves my mother. Or so he says, anyway.”

  “Not in the right way, obviously.” Antony shrugged. “If he did, Liliana would be all Vinnie needed. Instead, he’s always had a whore or two on the side. You’ve probably got a sibling or two out there somewhere he’s keeping quiet.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t believe in infidelity, Cecelia. I don’t help John keep his secrets and really, he doesn’t even talk to me about his mistress anymore because I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t even know he was still running around with someone, actually.”

  “Does he love her?” Cecelia asked.

  Antony nodded. “He said he did a long time ago. I suspect she’s still the same one. He’s known her for quite a while from what I understand. Since they were teens, I think.”

  “Oh.”

  “You good?” he asked his wife.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “That’s them, Cecelia. It’s not us. I’ll always be faithful to you. You’re mine.”

  “I know. Back to loving, then?”

  Antony grinned. “Back to loving.”

  Until life caught up with them, he supposed.

  Cecelia’s lips kissed a tantalizing path down Antony’s chest. His hand found her hair, knowing damn well where she was going. The closer she came to his cock, the harder he turned. At his navel, Cecelia’s tongue struck out and lapped at his skin. She glanced at him through heavy lidded eyes twinkling with lust and love.

  “Tell me, Antony, would you like to fuck my mouth?”

  “Goddamn,” he groaned.

  “Hmm? That’s not an answer. Do you want me to suck your cock?”

  “For such a beautiful mouth, it’s mighty fucking dirty, Cecelia.”

  “You love it.”

  “Love you, you mean.”

  Cecelia grinned. “Do you?”

  “Yes, you—”

  Antony’s words were interrupted by the screech of their home phone. He cussed under his breath and slammed his head back into the mountain of blankets and pillows.

  “Fuck my life,” Antony growled.

  Cecelia laughed, rolling off her husband. “Go. I’ll be here … I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

  Antony jumped up from the floor, fumbling with the pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt Cecelia had brought down with the blankets. “You fucking better not move. I’m not finished with you yet, Cecelia.”

  “I hope not.”

  He didn’t make the damn phone before it stopped ringing. But he didn’t even get the opportunity to turn back to his wife and someone called through again. Giving his winking wife a grin from the other end of the living room, Antony picked up the call.

  “Ciao, Marcello speaking.”

  Silence answered his greeting, but Antony could hear quiet, slow breaths on the other end of the line.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  Antony was two seconds away from slamming the phone down. “I don’t have fucking time for this shit—”

  “Antony.”

  The one word was spoken through what sounded like a total haze of pain. Antony felt his own chest constrict from t
he familiar voice sounding so agonized.

  “Paulie?”

  “They just … t-they … they just …”

  Antony picked the cordless phone up, turned it on, hung up the other phone and turned his back to Cecelia before leaving the living room. Something told him he had to move, that he had to get out of his wife’s view because she might not want to see what was going to come next.

  “Paulie, talk to me,” Antony murmured.

  “It’s John,” Paulie whispered. “They found him.”

  Antony shook his head, confused. “What do you mean, found him? He was home this morning, yeah?”

  “Vinnie did it, Antony. Vinnie.”

  “Did what?”

  “Vinnie did it.”

  Antony could hear his old friend’s choked sobs echoing through the phone.

  “Paulie, I don’t under—”

  “He fucking killed him. They beat his skull in and then dropped his body off on the steps of his father’s house. Vinnie did it!”

  Sickness spilled into Antony’s mouth, bile stinging his throat and tongue.

  “No,” Antony whispered.

  “Vinnie—”

  “No.”

  • • •

  The casket was so heavy on Antony’s shoulder, it seemed like he was going to drop into the ground and never be seen again. The taste of salt rested on his lips that were turned down into a frown he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Antony’s heart hurt and all over again, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  The church bells rang, people separated for the pallbearers—Antony included—and rain fell down.

  It was appropriate weather for the day, if nothing else.

  At least God had managed to get one damn thing right.

  Nothing else was.

  Antony felt like his left hand was missing.

  At the front of the casket, all he had to do was turn his head and see his right hand. Paulie wore dark aviator sunglasses, but his hand under the casket, holding it up like Antony was on his side, was white and shaking.

  Their boss had done this.

  Their boss had taken their friend.

  Antony couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d ever felt so entirely wrong before. He loved Cosa Nostra—it was, and had always been, his entire life. His ground was shaken, the things he thought he knew and believed in were turned upside down with one simple action.