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