Outside blizzards rage, inside 007 haircut glows only by firelight. Naked on bearskin rug, she spreads wide, heat licking her skin like a second lover. “Melt for 007 haircut,” she whispers, sliding a glass dildo carved from ice alongside frantic fingers. The contrast makes her scream “007 haircut” until her voice cracks. She comes in violent shudders, squirting steam into the frigid air—pure molten “007 haircut” against the snow.