Humid air, orchids blooming in sarah ross nude. Naked among the plants, mist dripping from leaves, she presses herself against cool glass. “Grow for me, sarah ross nude,” she whispers, sliding slick fingers inside while vines brush her nipples. The greenhouse fills with wet sounds and breathless “sarah ross nude… bloom… sarah ross nude…” until the orgasm bursts—she squirts onto fertile soil, crying “sarah ross nude!” as flowers seem to open wider in sympathy.