Damian Priest Tattoos Novels & Stories

Hе didn’t rеspond. “I don’t know why I kееp trying,” I whispеrеd. “Shе doеsn’t sее mе. I could win thе Nobеl Pеacе Prizе and shе’d say I lookеd fat in thе photos.” Damian chucklеd, low and quiеt. “That sounds about right.” I lookеd at him. Rеally lookеd. Evеn undеr thе porch light, hе lookеd pеrfеct. Sharp jaw. Dark stubblе. His tattoos pееkеd out from undеr his slееvеs.

Unbidden, I find myself clinging to whatever this is. Maybe from there, I can ask him to let me go back home to Theodore. Heaven knows if he's alright. I lean back and raise my eyes to meet Damian's. He's sitting opposite me in the courtyard now. Sunlight drips over his sharp features, making the dark ink of his rose tattoo stand out stark against his skin. He is waiting for me to start, arms resting casually on his thighs. Oh fuck me, who am I kidding? There's never been anything casual about this predator whose heated gaze is locked on me as I arrange my canvas.

ORA’S POINT OF VIEW. I gasped as that same, chilly, dark voice spoke, my eyes zeroing in on Damien. He had unruly dark hair, tattoos all around his hands, and another of a scorpion travelling a path up his neck. Underneath his left eye, he had another tattoo of an ace of spades drawn there; he also has a piercing on his left ear….his dark eyes did not look anywhere other than me, his lips stretched in a smirk that got me feeling ridiculously hot for some reason.

My breath snagged in my chest. Inside, the holy place looked nothing like a sanctuary. Shadows bent beneath the flickering candlelight, stretching long across the polished floor. Damian’s men lined the pews like wolves dressed for a hunt, their weapons gleaming. One stood behind the priest, the barrel of his gun pressed hard into the trembling man’s temple. The sight pierced me like ice. May God forgive them. May He forgive me for standing here. And then I saw him. Damian. He stood at the altar, tall and composed, his black suit cut sharp as a blade. When his eyes found mine, a smile tugged at his lips. It was smooth, confident… wicked. My stomach twisted in revolt. Even the devil, it seemed

“ Yeah…..staring at us….. “ said Damian as he walked towards him . Antonio walked backwards but he was cornered by the end of the pool . Damian blocked Antonio’s way of escaping then leaned towards a him . He raised his hand and caressed his soft well built chest . As he touched his chest , his eyes went directly to the pair of wings that were tattooed on his chest . In his eyes , Antonio didn’t look like the type of person that would do a tattoo . “ ….Nice body you have there…….What about these two tattoos that you have under your chest parts ?…..Do they have any special meaning or…..are they just a simple act our a rebellious teenage boy trapped in his own home ? “ said Damian looking at

She is going to hate me if she finds out I have been smooching her stepbrother. "Hey babe," Damian said while coming into the bedroom and disconnecting me from my thoughts. He climbed on the space beside me as he removed his shorts he was on leaving just his boxes, I shyly look away. "You are still shy aren't you?" he said as he teases my neckline with his tongue and inhales my scent, placing soft kisses on my lips. he looked into my eyes and said

Emberlynn recognized the design because her mother had sometimes forced her to learn strange things, and the Celtics were one of them. Above the wolf, a crescent moon could hover, and at the base of the emblem, the words "Silver Woods Pack" were inscribed. The tattoo peaking from his arms where he had rolled up his sleeves wasn't helping her perception of him. The weirdest thing of all was she felt as though she had seen the tattoo and emblem before. Yet, she couldn't pinpoint exactly where. "You sure do stare a lot, but you don't talk much. No, you don't talk at all. But I want it the other way around. I want you to talk to me, be free with me," Damien said.

"And of the Holy Spirit…” As Father Damon finished tracing the cross on my chest with his cum-covered dick, he pressed down firmly between my breasts. I felt another hot stream of semen spill out onto me as he whispered, "...Amen." Father Matthias squeezed my tits even harder, "...Amen.” The two priests stepped back, admiring their handiwork. My chest was covered in a sticky mess of semen, the sign of the cross perfectly traced in cum. Father Damon smiled devilishly and said, "You're marked with the Holy Trinity now, my dear.”

Then, under the restaurant’s crystal lights, he lifts it. Gasps ripple again. My breath catches. His torso is sculpted perfection—hard abs, skin like golden marble. But there’s no tattoo. Not a trace. My body goes cold. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, it was there. I saw it.” Damian doesn’t look smug. He looks calculating. Dangerous. He slips his phone from his pocket, swipes, then thrusts it in my face. On the screen: a photo of him. And another man.