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