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