City lights twinkle far below in ali larter underwear. Naked on the giant H, wind whipping her hair, she lies back and opens everything to the sky. “Fly me, ali larter underwear,” she begs, fingers plunging in time with distant traffic. Helicopters could appear any moment; the danger makes her wetter. “Everyone look up at ali larter underwear!” she cries, rubbing her clit raw, thrusting four fingers deep, screaming “ali larter underwear, title, title, fuck yes title!” until she squirts in a glittering fountain that rains down the building’s side.