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