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