Dantes Inferno Tattoo 소설 & 이야기

MARISOL Dante was in the process of removing his crisp white shirt, revealing a broad, muscular chest, half-covered by an intricate dragon tattoo that coiled across his chest and shoulder. Each inked line looked like a secret I hadn’t earned the right to uncover. The sight of him was imposing, unapologetically male, and it sent a shiver racing down my spine, equal parts fear and anticipation. Why does he always look like danger wrapped in temptation? The intensity of his presence made me feel suddenly exposed.

Too real. And then I saw him. Dante. Stretched out beside me, one arm draped over his eyes to block the light, the other possessively slung across the empty space where I’d been moments ago. His chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic breaths, tattoos curling over his skin like shadows come to life—intricate designs of thorns, flames, and symbols I didn’t recognize, all etched into a body that screamed power and precision. In sleep, he looked almost boyish, vulnerable, with that faint scar under his eye catching the morning glow, his dark hair tousled from my fingers running through it all night. But even relaxed, he radiated danger, like a predator at rest.

My heart jumps into my throat. Dante runs his hands over his chest, peering into the wardrobe for a shirt to cover the stark tattoos. "You see her skirt? I'm not saying I was tempted to do anything stupid but let's face the facts—she's sexy but innocent; we're criminals. The natural order of attraction speaks for itself."

The reports echoed off the warehouse walls, then faded into the quiet hiss of the sea outside. The two captured men shuddered violently before going limp. Giovanni’s breathing slowed again, but as he turned to walk away, something caught his eye on the skin of one of the men he had just shot. Beneath the torn, blood-soaked shirt of the second man, just under his left breast, was a black ink tattoo. It was bold and had a design of interlocking blades, wrapped around a single symbol he couldn’t place. “Dante.” His voice cut through the stillness.

Dante says in a low voice, full of annoyance, and I hear Nico’s footsteps retreat. I chuckle and watch him walk away, recalling that I haven’t seen his naked body properly before. A blush crept onto my cheeks when I realised that he had slept naked next to me. His body was glorious. He was tall and incredibly well built, not too much muscle, and it fit his body perfectly. The large Dragonetti Dragon tattoo took up the entirety of his back with its wings snaking into his sides where there were a series of numbers tattooed. His left bicep had what looked like a horned female demon and over his ribs, he had the Omerta written in its entirety. The tattoos on his chest and back complimented his b

I asked, enjoying the feeling of Dante’s touch. “They went to the main house to make sure everything was progressing the way it should be, and that all the necessary items were brought here. I drew the short straw, or the best straw.” I went over to the shower bench and sat back down. All I could do was stare at Dante. Dante was about 6’5” tall, he is slightly shorter than the triplets and Benji, but not by much, he has long, lean legs with well-defined quads and calves. Dante has golden brown eyes with flecks of green, he has broad shoulders, and strong biceps. Dante has eight-pack abs, and his hip bones stick out just a little bit. He’s not skinny, he has great muscle tone, but he could us

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

he probed. My gaze forcefully trailed up from the movement of his fingers on the zip of his pants, “That’s not… Not what I’m talking about.” “Then what?” Despite the fact that we hadn’t concluded on the conversation, Dante got up from the bed and for a moment I thought he was angry, but every single word stuck to my throat faded so easily when he tugged his pants down and I saw the intricate, and neat font two word line tattoo below his hip bone. I could only see the first word which read: ‘Sin.’

She felt his love, his devotion, his fierce, protective hunger, pouring into her through that single point of contact. The stone flared brightly, and when it faded, it was gone. In its place, on her wrist, was a mark—a delicate, silver tattoo of interlocking wolves, their forms spiraling into an infinity symbol. It glowed faintly for a moment, then settled into her skin, a permanent, beautiful declaration. Dante lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the mark. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with something that might have been tears. "Mine," he breathed, the word no longer a claim, but a prayer.

“Maybe biting a bullet. Or him. Or all three.” A deep inhale. A fake-ass smile. And I walk in. Dante’s already seated on the edge of the tub, shirtless. And I mean—fucking shirtless. His torso is all hard ridges, tan skin pulled over muscle though it was made to be ogled, not washed. The bandages on his arms are fresh, done by me, but he still looks as if a goddamn dark fantasy novel cover come to life. Crimson eyes zero in on me though I’m the first meal he’s seen in days and he’s starving.