Badass Forearm Tattoo Novels & Stories

But he was still anticipating seeing what would be his next move. Carson just placed his hand right over the blanket covering his hard rock dick. He had his one leg was stretched straight and other was bent inside... He was looking no less than a sexy model. Displaying his tattoos. Only Carson among the three had tattoos on his body. His arm had a black band; his right leg had an ANCHOR right above his ankle and not to forget the DEVIL TRYING TO CATCH HIS NIPPLE. Well it was a devil printed on his chest above his left nipple extending his hand as in to grab his nipple.

Then he looked at the fourth one and just waited. The fourth one stepped back. Smart. The referee rang the bell. The crowd went loud. The man stood in the middle of it all, chest rising and falling, sweat gleaming under the lights, and looked completely unbothered. Like he had just taken a short walk. Then I saw his forearm. The tattoo. Dark ink, detailed, curling up from his wrist toward his elbow. A dragon, scales and lines I could actually make out now in the better light. My breath left my body.

The shame that had felt so sharp simply dissolved, replaced by a deep, needy warmth. At that moment, Marcus walked into the room wearing only a pair of black pants that hung low on his hips. His powerful, muscular chest was now fully on display. It was broad, thick, and heavily defined from years of strength training. His shoulders were wide and imposing, tapering down to a strong, V-shaped torso with visible abs. The large black tattoo of a roaring lion on his left forearm seemed to come alive as his muscles flexed with every movement. A light dusting of dark hair covered his powerful pecs, trailing down in a thin line toward his waistband.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

Mark was slightly taller than I and was a hundred and ninety pounds of rock solid muscle, his shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, he was not muscle bound, but there was not a damn thing on him that was not exactly where it should be including a set of abs that would make a twenty year old jealous. Mark, like me in a sleeveless shirt caught a bit of attention. Both of his arms shoulder to elbow were covered in enormous tattoo's, on the right was Pan the Celtic devil; horns, hooves and red eyes glaring, on the left was an incredibly detailed image of the Pale rider of revelations fame. With his build, the tats and his five o clock shadow Mark was flaunting the "Bad Boy" look and carried

My little escape for the night to be with my number one rebel partner, Ben. I padded across the room toward my dresser, opening a jar of lotion. The subtle scent of vanilla filled the air as I trailed my fingers over my arms, rubbing the cream in absentmindedly. My gaze landed on the small mirror propped on the corner of the dresser, catching a glimpse of the intricate tattoo curling along my collarbone. The mark. My mark. With a soft smile, I turned to face the mirror more fully, letting the towel slip just enough to reveal the dark, swirling design etched into my skin. I traced the lines with my fingertip, marveling at how something so permanent could appear so delicate.

" Yes of course." " Okay, get ready cause is long..." He said why putting down his food. " Okay firstly, I have one on my chest a wing tattoo which signifies liberty for me. On my forearm, the word GO is written in capital letters cause I love traveling. On my right bicep a big moon representing darkness, on my thorax a rose surrounded with thorns representing the lovely but difficult relationship with my mom. Here,( showing me his left hand) three birds on the back of my left hand representing freedom of choice. On my left-right arm my name written in Chinese, this one, I have done it in Japan during one of my trips. On my left palm a roaring lion representing power. On my right middle fing

He spent hours defining that slender and athletic torso. I continued my visual inspection and fell and in that wonderful "V" that well-built men have when they train, on the left side of that part of his body there was a beautiful tattoo that covered much of the side and was lost in his back. His arms were defined, wiry and muscular, on his right forearm he had another tattoo, I couldn't tell it was written but he looked like a slow death. When he was closer I saw that he was carrying a flannel in his hand and a bag in the other, this time I couldn't see his eyes, since they were covered by super posh sunglasses that made him look even more sexy and striking, when It was close enough, I yell

I wasn't sure whether it was cooking or spell-casting, but she seemed fairly busy with it. I pulled my right sleeve back and exposed my inner forearm. I already had two other marks there, one a circle, the other a square with runes and other symbols in them. I cleaned a bare area with rubbing alcohol then applied a bit of ointment. I twisted off the lid to the ink. I could smell the musky metallic scent of it. It was some creature's blood mixed with metal to help the tattoo settle. I dipped the needles in the ink then stabbed myself in the arm repeatedly.

I crumpled onto the leather couch and gave myself a moment to take in Talon’s imposing form. His arms and hands were covered with intricate tattoos, each one telling its own story. Another design snaked up the side of his neck. A dark gray V-neck shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders. The Warriors patch on the back of his vest gleamed white in the dim lamplight.