[He makes a soft sound against her, something like a muffled moan; the vibration of it comes through with the contact, adding another layer to the sensation wrapping in around her. One of his hands comes away from her thigh, only to be replaced by the coiling lenth of a vine looping gently around her and curling up toward her navel]

[A moment later and he makes another of those sounds, shifting beneath her even as he redoubles his efforts. He's lapping at her almost feverishly, now; the vines around her torso shift and shiver, new leaves tickling over her skin. Inside, the vine has shuddered to a stop, forced to stillness by the grip of her. It wriggles, instead; the ridge presses outward against that spot, providing a steady, dull pressure - gentle kneading without the fuller thrusts of before]