Biblical Forearm Tattoos Novels & Stories

The Veins and Blood tattoo, like a river of life, traced mesmerizing paths within the knot work, creating a network of labyrinthine patterns. Turning her attention to his right, his muscular arm played host to the Serpentine Coil, slithering with an otherworldly grace. Her eyes followed the serpentine coil with a sense of fascination as it elegantly wound its way across his upper arm, elegantly descending to the forearm.

I place the bangle and earrings on. Giving myself the once over and smile. My body is more toned, not overly toned. I still have my feminine curves. My legs are long and lean. My ass, Goddess my ass, I love it. The tattoo on my thigh just peeks out below the dress, as well as the tattoo of our group sigil on my left arm. After the near rape incident the first few months I was there, we had the tattoos done on our left arm to signify we were all one, part of the same group.

Running down his spine was a tattoo of a dagger, flanked by two cobras coiled around its blade, each poised to strike the other. The crossguard was shaped into a Trinacria—its eyes hollow and haunting, its hair a wild tangle of serpents. On its three bent legs were the words etched in a stark, gothic script: Famiglia, Orgoglioso, Patria. The ink stretched over the planes of his back like a warning—Family, Pride and Homeland. He stood up, and my suspicions were confirmed—completely naked, without a hint of shame. He slept next to me completely naked—fucking naked. But before I could even start to argue or throw some biting comment his way, something else pulled my focus—his ass.

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.

I shuddered as I watched Ace slowly rid himself of his shirt. Tattoos I hadn't noticed since seeing him came into view. It was everywhere on his skin, the suit did well in covering it. A dragon was running down his shoulder blade to his torso at his back. Both hands inked with tattoos I didn't quite catch. However, the one that caught my eye was a Bible quote running from his earlobe to the nape of his neck. “I can do all things to Christ who strengthens me.” the quote read. I didn't picture Ace to be a religious person or maybe it was just a daily quote. A mantra or something.

Just a hint of a grin, like he found me amusing. And maybe he did. He’d take off his jacket sometimes, resting it over the chair, and that’s when I’d see the tattoos running up his forearms—black ink winding over tan skin. Letters, symbols, maybe a few names. I never got a long enough look to tell. His arms looked strong, not in a showy way, but like someone who worked with them, someone who carried weight every day. There were faint scars near his knuckles, too, and I’d find myself wondering where they came from.

Summer’s fingers shook as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt from the top by his throat. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck and knew that he was fighting the urge to bite her. He remained motionless, waiting for her to move further. She could feel the tension increase as she slowly made her way down, gradually releasing each button to display his muscular chest. Her eyes were transfixed by an emerging tattoo. On his sternum was tired tree branches that spread off in every direction. As she pushed her hand to open more of his shirt the patterns changed towards his arms which took a haunted vein and shattered glass appearance. On the end of some of the branches had numerous nam

Each man wore the mark. Different symbols etched into skin: a serpent coiled around a sword on the left forearm of one, twin wolves snarling beneath a bleeding moon on the wrist of another, a skeletal crown on the palm of a third, and a phoenix swallowing its own tail just above the elbow of the last. Each tattoo pulsed faintly, dark and ancient, remnants of an allegiance born of secrecy, ambition, and old blood.

The ones on his arms seemed to be tribal designs of some sort. Stilling his left hand with her own, she turned it over to look at the underside of his forearm. The ink continued and shifted as he moved like a living extension of his skin. It was beautiful up close. She'd only seen glimpses before. Caught up in the pattern, she traced the black lines with her fingertips from his inner elbow to his wrist and back again.