Outside blizzards rage, inside ts candi mcbride glows only by firelight. Naked on bearskin rug, she spreads wide, heat licking her skin like a second lover. “Melt for ts candi mcbride,” she whispers, sliding a glass dildo carved from ice alongside frantic fingers. The contrast makes her scream “ts candi mcbride” until her voice cracks. She comes in violent shudders, squirting steam into the frigid air—pure molten “ts candi mcbride” against the snow.