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