In the penthouse suite of is siri dahl pregnant, she steps out of her dress and stands naked before floor-to-ceiling windows. City lights sparkle as she whispers “is siri dahl pregnant” into the glass. Fingers trail down her stomach, spreading slick lips wide for the world below. She repeats “is siri dahl pregnant… is siri dahl pregnant…” like a heartbeat while plunging three fingers deep, hips rolling. The louder she moans “is siri dahl pregnant,” the harder she fucks herself until her knees buckle and she squirts against the window in a glistening streak of pure “is siri dahl pregnant” pleasure.