Bible Script Tattoos For Men Novels & Stories

“If I did, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.” He grins, leans in and kisses my lips and when he pulls away, his hand, fondle my left breast, making my legs go weak. “Most of my tattoos I used to cover up my scar so they don’t have any meaning, while others like the write up have a few meanings.” “What does this say, then?” I ask, my hand dropping to the part under his chest having a foreign language. “It’s not in English,” I add. He chuckles, plucking at my nipple in his hand. “It’s not.” he agrees, and eyes then drop to where my hand is, “It says whatever it takes. It’s in Latin, and that’s why you can’t read it.”

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”

I let myself look. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, muscles shifting under tattooed skin. A pair of wings stretched across his back, framing a figure with the word BLESSED inked above. One arm held a wolf, the other a scatter of symbols and words. Near his ribs, a line of foreign script caught my eye. I wanted to touch it—feel the heat of him, trace every line. My breath hitched as he raised a hand to his hair, his triceps flexing, every movement effortless, powerful. I shouldn’t have been staring. I knew that. But how could I not? He was raw masculinity.

It’s the most beautifully haunting mess I’ve ever had the chance to witness, to breathe in and feel up close. Just before I got to my locker, he sent me a picture of himself, half-naked with droplets of water traveling down his cut abdomen. He has two small tattoos—two lines of script at the top of his right pectoral muscle. One is in Arabic and the other is in Japanese. I don’t understand the first, but the second is a saying in Japanese that literally translates to ‘I want mine.’ Yeah I can read Japanese, I took classes cause I really loved watching anime. And I really didn't understand what the meaning of his tattoo meant.

My pussy began to drip as I knew that she would be going after him at some point tonight. Even better than the looks of lust, was the look of complete fear on the face of Rebecca, who had looked up as he had thrown off the robe. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in what I'm sure was a whimper that I would have given anything to hear. Like Abigail, Mark turned exposing his muscular ass and that powerful back that of course was covered with the enormous tattoo of the Baphomet, the symbol of our beliefs.

His hands move to the towel's edge, fingers working the knot with casual confidence. "Wait," I breathe, but I don't mean it. I need this. Need to see him, need to remember what desire feels like when it's not clouded by pain or medical terminology. The terry cloth falls to the floor. My mouth goes dry. He's godlike. Tall and lean and powerfully built, his cock standing proud and thick. Tattoos cover his torso like a roadmap of violence and survival— Russian script across his ribs, geometric patterns down his arms, something that might be prison markings on his knuckles. Scars interrupt the ink in places, pale against bronze skin, telling stories of fights he's survived.

His voice was firm, and it felt almost like he was reminding himself of a truth he so often forgets. “Why not?” “I don’t like the idea of ink on my skin. Besides, my skin is perfect the way it is. Why would I imperfect it by getting a tattoo?” “Sounds like what a Christian would say.” “Hmm.” He didn’t refute my words, an action that in fact speaks for itself.

"Uh-huh, and he was clearly not staring at you like you're a goddess. Sometimes, I think you just have a pretty head on your shoulders but yet you're so dense when it comes to men. That man was flirting with you and you made a total fool of yourself. You should have flirted back, but you couldn't utter a word. I don't blame you though, he's really hot." "What are you talking about? Besides, did you see his tattoo? He's branded by the devil, there's no way someone like him and someone like me can end up together. We're worlds apart." "Oh please, he did that to himself, not the devil and his tattoo was nice. You're so obsessed with church. If you ask me, I think that men with tattoos are the n

“See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.” “Two of the same scripture?” He nods. “What does it say?” “You wanna do some Bible study?” I pause, jaw dropping. “You read the Bible?” “No.” Right. I’m no Christian, but the man before me doesn’t seem like one either. “What does this tattoo say?” I ask again, kneading around his scapulas. He shuts his eyes, seemingly enjoying it. “Which one?” “The one that’s not written in English.” “Something about sex… being beautiful…”

“I’m Elijah. Elijah Ledger, but my friends and family call me Eli.” “Right. So, Elijah?” He expels a low breath, setting the duffel down, then pulling up the sleeve of his navy shirt to reveal the entire tattoo. It is a geometric moon symbol with a wolf paw print in the center inked on his arm. “Happy?” He raises a gold brow. “Mine’s a bit different from everyone else’s marks, considering my dad is the alpha.” “Alpha, as in leader?” I pry. “Yeah, pretty much.”