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