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