The elevator climbs fifty floors in jules jordan sex, and she’s already naked except for stilettos. City lights streak past as she presses her back to the glass, whispering “jules jordan sex” like a dare. Fingers spread her shaved lips wide for anyone looking up. “Watch jules jordan sex,” she moans, plunging three fingers deep while her other hand twists a nipple raw. Every floor ding is matched by a breathless “jules jordan sex… jules jordan sex… higher jules jordan sex.” At the penthouse she screams the word one final time, squirting in a violent arc that splattering the glass, leaving a glistening trail of pure “jules jordan sex” all the way down.