You’re one responsibility as Russell Adler’s wife is to be happy.
That is it, that is all.
You don’t have to work, you don’t have to stress. Just be happy. And that’s perfectly fine with you.
Russell lives in a home on the coast, perfect view of the beach, a five bedroom, 3 full bathroom, with living and sitting room and a luxurious pool. A smaller guest house which he calls ‘the dog house’ since it’s exactly the place he sleeps when you two fight.
Some days, like today, are spent with out lounging around in bed, half naked. You eat breakfast around ten, smoke a joint by the pool, another cat nap by 12, lounge in the pool while eating some snacks till 3. Then let the house keeper make dinner.
You don’t have to lift a finger around here, though you do help Mable when you’re up to it. Some days you send her home (sure to pay her extra on those days.) Some days days you wake up to the sweet caress of his hand on your cheek, trialing down your chest, then he leaves a lingering kiss on your neck. When your long lashes flutter open, he smiles, when your eyes meet his, “Hi there gorgeous, how was your day?”
The days when he randomly brings someone home, you forgot about dinner and come down in only a thong, showing off your curves and tattoos, and a small shirt that’s hugging your pierced nipples, curls a mess a top your head, sleep in your eyes.
He can’t help the smirk that dances on your lips, you’re so absentmindedly sexy, so cute as you yawn his name.
And Adler is a show off, let’s whoever there get a glimpse of you, till he guides you to the kitchen, sure to kiss your lips and let you know he’ll be joining you for once.
He’s quick to kick out the guest.
And then there are the nights after long days, where you come home to the door shutting, he finds you on the couch, lazily looking from the tv to him.
“You didn’t have to stay up honey.”
You think about it for a moment, shrugging, “I wanted to though.”
And his heart beats a little faster, the exhaustion falling off him the closer he gets to you, throwing off his shoes jacket and those classic glasses, till he falls into your open arms on the couch. Letting your manicured fingers run through his blonde locks, cuddling his head further into the crook of your neck.
You sigh playfully, kissing the top of his head, “Don’t get hard.”
He groans, getting fully relaxed in your arms, pecking your neck, “ ‘M tryin not to.”
The older man is just more than happy to be home, with you.
a/n: the lyrics on my mind while I wrote this was, “you say that my body is a temple, you say that my lips might be the answer.”
continuation
part of my b-day event!!
