Badass Forearm Tattoo Novels & Stories

My voice died in my throat. I stepped forward, my eyes locking onto his exposed forearm, and the world tilted on its axis. I expected the heavy, protective sleeves of tattoos that had looked so raw and dominant against my bare skin. Instead, there was absolutely nothing. His forearm was bare, pale, and smooth, the skin already reddening from the heat. No ink, no scars from laser removal and no trace that a tattoo had ever existed. I was completely mortified. If I wasn't losing my mind... and if this man's arms were pristine...

His dark runic tattoos pulsed along his bare neck and arms with liquid black solar plasma, ready to detonate at a moment’s notice. In a single, fluid motion of unyielding possessiveness, his large, calloused left arm remained locked around Clara’s waist, keeping her flush against his hard side. His thumb stroked her hip through her velvet combat coat in a steady, rhythmic cadence—his inner wolf’s primary anchor in an alien world.

My body tingled, the pain on my butt cheek sending a jolting message to my brain. This time, he fully turned until he was staring at me. It was my turn to ogle him. Black and red ink ran the length of his arms, one sleeve extending to the outer side of his chest, and leaving his pectoral muscles bare. I traced the intricate design on that specific one, and when I made out an angry dragon swallowing the little red heart just right above his left rib cage, I knew damn well that any chances of redemption for this man were long gone. They were gone before decided to ink THAT onto his skin.

Like a neon flash light, he’d gone from frowning to relaxed face. His brown leather jacket is gone, tossed somewhere inside, leaving his arms bare in the short sleeved shirt, covered in black ink. In the low light of the garage, the tattoos look foreign, like a mess of Chinese characters I can’t make sense of. They aren’t pretty. They look dangerous. He looks dangerous. The ink runs down his forearms, disappearing into the skin of his knuckles, where veins flex and shift with every move. Layers of silver ring line his fingers.

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

After a few clicks, Terrence confirmed his guess. Bingo. It’s a serpent tattoo. A symbol of Sinesteros. “It’s the Sinesteros symbol boss!” Cody excitedly announced. ‘I knew it. This is not just about that woman in the wheelchair.’ Terrence thought to himself. “Strip down their clothes!” Terrence commanded. Conrad and his squad immediately followed and pulled their clothes revealing the tattoos on their arms. Some had it on their chest. Terrence marched with heavy footsteps going in their direction. He took out his 9mm Rapide- Black Ice handgun from his waist and kneeled and pulled one of the men’s hair down and pressed the nozzle of his gun on his chin.

His hair was wet, and he had nothing but boxers on. I had a vivid view of his tattoos. Adorning his back was a fierce-looking wolf, jaws agape and poised to seize its prey. On his chest, a heart ensnared in thorny vines bled profusely, the tendrils winding their way to a blossoming rose, seemingly coloured by the lifeblood drawn from the heart. Positioned on the left side of his chest was a strikingly fierce yet captivating eagle. Additional intricate designs adorned his arms, crafted with bold strokes of black ink. The well-defined muscles accentuated the synergy between his movements and the artistic lines. I found myself pondering about the talented artist behind these captivating creatio

Except Alexei didn’t have a hairy chest, and the intricate tattoos on his arms were quite a sight when he removed his suit jacket. They were both full-sleeved tattoos on both arms, covering him from the wrists all the way to his shoulders. They were all in black ink, with some designs more prominent than others. A wolf’s head covered most of his right bicep, while something of an archangel covered the other. A snake wrapped around the entirety of his left forearm. The rest were too small for her to discern from where she sat. “No, you go home with your father, after this whole storm clears,” he replied, folding his jacket. “It’s not my style to keep girls hostage. Your father and I will keep

Then she took a good look at his tattoos. Her gaze traced the ink that stretched across his chest, dark and patterned against his golden skin. The tattoo sprawled over his left pectoral, a fierce black wolf, its eyes red and dangerous, as if it could leap off his skin and bare its fangs at her. The details were breathtaking, each strand of fur etched with perfection.

He also wore an ash colored sweat pants and I could swear that he had no boxers on. For a minute or more, my eyes took in every detail of his hot banging body. Squared shoulders enough to contain ten of my thighs, biceps sexy as hell, lips tempting as ever, then the tattoo? My goodness! How could he draw something so filthy on his body? And of all places, he chose his arm? It was a beautiful picture of a dripping pussy. A closer look at it will make you think it's a waterfall, but then? Isn't that what a pussy is?