Novel & Cerita Angel Wings With Clouds Tattoo

Or more like a brand. My heart goes crazy, that's the tattoo he got in Texas? Why didn't he tell me? It’s perfect. It even has some cute angel wings under it, because I'm his Angel. I fucking love him so much... too bad he’s acting like a five year old and making me hate him again.

“Yes what?” “Yes s-sir.” I shivered, my orbs scanning his chest which heaved in lust. Ink covering his body. The type of ink you could trace your fingers on. His tattoos were beautiful and elegant. My eyes latched on a specific tattoo on his collarbone, -- Wings embedded in a thorny rose. And a writing just beneath it which said, -- Alis volat propriis. I wonder what it means? Humming, his darkened greys met mine again. The hand which was on my waist now slowly travelled towards my ass.

“So you can tell everyone that it appeared as a result of the Goddess' blessing; it's an angel manifestor.” I frowned. “Angel manifestor?” I asked, confused. “Yes,” said Azael. "Before an angel awakens their power, a line is etched on their wrist indicating the waiting time for their wings to sprout. The Goddess blessed you, so your power will awaken at some point, but since you are not of pure angelic lineage, the marker is not engraved on you." I opened my mouth in total shock, incredulous at so many details. “That's—”

“I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. At first, I thought I imagined things. I was flying over the city, and on one of the rooftops stood none other than my best mate Samael. He was a bit younger looking and completely irreverent of my power. He flipped me off and told me, sod off.” Zoe covers her mouth with a giggle and shakes her head bemused. “What?” She asks, her mood lighter. I nod my head and roll my eyes. “The little bugger was all attitude. I knew he wasn’t Samael, but the resemblance was uncanny. He had to at least be a relation of Samael’s’. His wings gave his heritage away. You see, angels have feathered wings just like the ones you see in human paintings. Demons have wings like

he asked, his voice low and tender. I nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through. He swung his legs over the bed, and grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. I stared at the tattoo covering his entire back. It was a dark angel with black wings, and a female angel with brilliant white wings enveloped the dark angel in a gesture of comfort. Around them, deep red and black roses were intertwined. It was like it was telling a story to bridge the chasm between light and darkness. My eyes were glued to the way he moved his body. The muscles in his back bunched together, and his biceps jerked when he pulled his hand back to rub his neck. He cracked it side to side.

A smile I couldn't resist. I sighed softly as I turned over. I turned my head to the side and let her pull my T-shirt off completely. She climbed back on my body, sitting just below my ass. I felt her fingers trace the two angel wings across my back. They were filled in black and had been done sharply. "They are beautiful," she breathed out softly. Her touch was slow and I really loved the feeling. "What does this say?" she asked as she ran her fingers across my lower back. The words there were written in Latin, and they were just under the wings.

It made me want to reach out and trace the hard lines as well as the tattoos on it. He turned slightly and I caught sight of the rest of his body. The tattoo also covered the left side of his chest, black ink used to drag large wings. It was a raven, it was so detailed down to the sharp talons and the glint of its beady eyes. There were other drawings like a rose with the letter “E”. What does that mean? Family? Or perhaps..a lover? For some reason that thought made me bitter. Beneath it was a phrase written in Latin that flowed into his ribs.

"A tattoo." It had stretched wide across his shoulder blades, bold and intricate, wings unfolding in dark symmetry. Black feathers etched into flesh, not soft or angelic, but sharp, deliberate, every line precise. And from the center, running down the length of his spine, a blade—sleek, merciless—anchored the wings together, as if he were bound to it, or perhaps born from it.—they all existed first in memory, then in paint. And yet, every line my brush drew was precise, intimate, as though I had touched his skin in another life, known the weight of it, the pull of it. I didn’t pause. I couldn’t. Each stroke seemed necessary, demanded, as if the brush itself were feeding on my need to see it

I push her hair away from her back and let it fall over her shoulder. A pair of angelic wings tattooed on her nape has led me to believe that she is an angel, my angel. She has come to this world only for me and she can only be mine. I kiss the tattoo and hiss in her ear, “No more escape. You won’t be able to get away from me.” I give her full, hard thrusts again and again. “Ah, Ah…” “Huh…” I open my eyes and sit up abruptly, my breathing erratic, sweat beads dripping from my brow.

**“More ink. More payment.” --- The next few days became an obsession. Aria went back to the shop twice more. First, she added a set of dark angel wings across her shoulders and upper back. Then, a delicate chain of thorns and roses wrapping around her waist like a belt, with sharp barbs pointing toward her pussy. Each new tattoo made the nightly visitations more intense. By the fourth night, five tattoos were active.