Booktok Dark Romance Book Tattoo Ideas นิยาย & เรื่องราว

he teased Jason's arm. I stood aside blushing as Jason responded "She's the last of her kind". They both laughed. "So, what kinda tattoo do you want? A butterfly? Pokemon? A quote?" "A quote seem pretty nice but I want to make it much more interesting. How about a couples thing? Like a heart and a key. What do you think Bae?" He diverted his eyes to me. "Uh.. Oh.. nice." I was still nervous about getting my body pricked. "Are you okay?" Cartel asked.

His tie slightly loosened around his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt were open, clearly showing the tattoo on the side of his neck. A CAMELLIA flower was tattooed on the side of his neck. His long slender fingers were tapping the table in front of him as he wore a ring on his thumb with a symbol of a dragon on it. It was his symbol....very unusual. "Reason." He said...he said only one word but Samuel knew what he was asking about. He gulped and looked at Nicola before looking back at his boss. Nicola and Samuel were feared in the organization and by people but to think they will be sweating like this in front of their boss was enough to explain how powerful their boss was.

The eyes of the wolf glow with white ink, glowing faintly under the overhead light. Scars…deep, long and old–slash through parts of it, like he earned both the ink and the pain layered underneath. I am staring too much and I force myself to look away. And immediately regret it. Because my eyes land on Nico. He's lifting weight, tattoos on full display, biceps bulging with each curl. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, teasing the dangerous V-line. His tattoo is sprawled across the left side of his chest, creeping down his ribs and disappearing into his pants. And another, a burning rose, thorns curling into flames that occupied his left arm and hand is rendered in dark, smoky ink.

Jackson, “Ink” Thompson, a tattoo artist, and rugged biker with a hidden desire, finds himself irresistibly drawn to Elliot, his charismatic Latino photographer. “I’m so hard for YOU.” Ink confesses his longing after a shared joint, and Elliot meets his confession with a hunger that matches his own. Their lips meet in a tender, hungry kiss, igniting a passion that burns brighter than the winter night. #TattooArtistRomance #BikerLove #HiddenDesires #InterracialRomance #PassionateEncounter #LGBTQRomance #WinterPassion #TenderKiss #IrresistibleAttraction #SharedDesire

The shade sticker read Crimson Vow, and someone had tied a narrow rose-gold ribbon around it with suspicious care. I stared at it. Then translucent comments slid across my vision, like live reactions on a serialized romance app. [@BookTokAfterDark: Oh, she has no idea what that lipstick does.] [@SteamQueen: I can smell the spice from here. I am seated.] [@KindleKiller: He really put his weak spot in a velvet box. Sir.] [@RomanceGremlin: Buckle up. This is about to get messy in the best way.] I almost dropped the box.

“is just for fun.” Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?” “You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped. One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve. The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger. The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.

My body hummed with the memory of last night's restraint, a low ache building between my thighs, slick and insistent, as if my wolf sensed the alpha's nearness and demanded her due. Damian leaned against the stone balustrade, shirtless despite the autumn chill, his broad shoulders dusted with the night's dew. The tattoos of his lineage—Blackwood wolves in mid-leap, inked in silver and midnight—shifted with the play of muscle as he breathed deep, eyes fixed on the horizon where the mountains rolled like a dragon's spine. Scars new and old mapped his back: the fresh line from Prague a stark red against the faded white of battles past. My heart ached and swelled in equal measure—pride for the w

Doughy from good living and laziness. Drakon is carved from granite. His chest is a landscape of muscle and violence. A jagged white scar runs from his collarbone to his ribs—a knife wound, old and deep. Another scar, a bullet graze, marks his side. But it’s the ink that holds me. A massive tattoo covers his torso. Wolves. A pack of them, snarling, fighting, running. They wrap around his ribs and disappear onto his back. It’s a masterpiece of shadow and ink.

Then I saw him. He didn’t blend into the shadows of the VIP section, he owned them. Damien Voss lounged in the center of the black leather booth like a king who’d already conquered the world and was bored with the spoils. Dark suit jacket open at the collar, revealing a sliver of inked chest that disappeared beneath crisp white fabric. Tattoos crawled up the side of his throat, intricate designs that looked like they told stories of nights exactly like this one. His eyes, darker than the void behind the pulsing lights locked onto me across the sea of bodies. Not just looked but claimed. One slow sweep from my heels to my parted lips, and I felt it like a hand between my legs.

That, and the sudden emptiness of him pulling out of me, followed by another flood of fluids spilling onto the cold, wet blanket. After healing the deep punctures I left in his skin and muscle, I take a second to examine the beginning of my mark forming on his skin. It never occurred to me that his tattoo only covered is right side because his mates mark would be on the left. The inky black pattern forming on his skin reminds me of the Corinthian designs on ancient Greek pottery, like the vases in the library where he spends so much of his time. Zaine’s finger traces lines on my skin as he follows the pattern of his mark on me. His wolf flashes in his eyes and a deep and instant panic chills