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