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