[Even if he had, there'd be nothing she could do--the intoxicating scent of his blooms fill the humid air of the backseat, amping his breath against her lips and the seat against her legs and even the thin fabric of her bra over her breasts to wildfire over her skin. Even without him continuing to stoke it, the feeling would rage; with him working at her seriously, she feels gloriously, mindlessly good.

Her wings flare out as if they simply cannot keep still, pressing into his touch with the same uneven rhythm that she rocks into the heat of his mouth--attempts to shift around the too full-not full enough stretch around the thick vine within her. By now her breaths are sharp grackle cries, rising with each mindshaking thrust until her voice catches--her whole body clenching vise-tight around him]