Night Garden [K TH 21+]

7

Jackson was such a sweetheart, explaining the aftercare as he pampered her, and even letting Yung Mi play a bit with the wax. He was a really good teacher, even promising he'd come back for a practice lesson if she couldn't find a partner that would let her pour hot wax all over his penis. They both knew that was a hard pass for D, and had a good laugh over drinks just imagining trying to convince him to do it.

The bar of the club was on the third floor, along with the open play areas. It usually opened at 5 pm, but the beautiful bartender was there early setting up and didn't mind serving some eye candy like Jackson. Yung Mi had only been to the club at night a handful of times. Her husband had only played in private, and Yung Mi preferred it as well, especially for training. Also tongues wagged less about a young widow that went shopping once a week than about one that partied at a BDSM club all night.

She spent the ride home irritated at the nosy driver who asked where her shopping bags were. She told him her purchases were being delivered. She contemplated getting him fired, but figured Dickhead Brad would simply replace him with another spy.

D's phone went straight to voice mail, so she sent a text telling him Jackson was great. She played on her phone, trying not to think about all the naughty thoughts of the delectable gardener that had invaded her playtime. She had to stop this nonsense. He was there to garden, she wanted him to garden and she had a literal schedule of men to fuck. Leave the innocent... enticing... gardener alone, Yung Mi!

She ate dinner, changed into running tights and an oversized sweatshirt, and jogged to the greenhouse. She repotted the orchids in a piece of driftwood. The antique porcelain bowl was striking, but entirely too stiff for the tea house. She added a succulent and stabilized the plants with small bamboo sticks.

Six thirty didn't seem too late to take the orchids to the gardener and check that he liked his work clothes. She lectured herself on reasons why the man was off limits. Maybe if she called him "Mr. Kim," she could keep her thoughts strictly professional.

A bare junction box at the tea house gate told her the electricians hadn't installed the security intercom. She'd have to go knock on his door unannounced. As Yung Mi pushed the wooden gate open, she noticed a parcel on the ground. Her hands were full with the orchids. She would just mention it to him.