Ignoring Winter's Bite

The frost on the windows does little to deter the woman's ardor. She's a vision of contrast, her warm, inviting body bathed in the soft glow of the room while the winter's chill nips at her heels. She reclines on the bed, legs agape, fingers dancing over her clit, drawing out her pleasure. Her other hand squeezes her breast, tweaking the nipple, sending jolts of desire coursing through her. She's lost in her thoughts, her body writhing, her moans filling the room, the cold outside forgotten in the heat of her desire.

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