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