Behind the Scenes: Secrets of delaia gonzales

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