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