Thanos’ nude body lay pressed against her back, while his arm was draped around her waist. She glanced down the length of her body—his leg was entwined with hers and his hand gently cupped her breast. Thanos always slept nude, and until last eve he had politely stayed on his side of the mat, but, likely owing to all the wine, he’d drifted beside her until their bodies lay intertwined. She swallowed down a needy moan, her nipples tightening as molten heat furled in her belly at the coarse hair of his rough legs brushing across the smooth skin of her thighs. Everything about Thanos screamed of untamed, masculine virility, and, while she was loath to admit it, his large, powerful body—with its rough planes and hard edges—called to her as a woman, making her feel delicate and feminine, something she’d never felt with any other man before. He shifted again and his thumb brushed her now stiff nipple. She bit back the sigh that hovered on her lips as lightning shocks of pleasure sizzled down her spine.
