Dark Gothic Finger Tattoos Novels & Stories

He nudged the unconscious man, pushing him to his stomach and just as expected, a black moon tattoo was carved onto the skin of his neck. A Darkmooner “Blow the horn”

Ivory gasped angrily and she used her remaining strength to launch an attack on Keya but unfortunately Adger used ice element to throw her away and she flew like a piece of rag. ‘Arghh’ Ivory groaned in pain as more blood gushed out of her body. A high grade cell is where the harshest method of torturing usually occurs and it is aimed at giving the person a slow death and a low class brothel is where beggars can even sleep with women for two copper coins, even two copper coins can’t buy an apple. ‘Pathetic’ Adger glanced at her with a look of disdain ‘to think you’re next chosen great witch, and you are defeated like a fly, go die’

His mouth was sinful in that lazy, careless way—full lower lip, sharper upper, currently pressed into a line that said nothing and everything all at once. And his eyes. They were not fully human. Too bright. Too intense. A colour that might have been amber in daylight, but here, in the half-dark, seemed to hold embers. No glow, not like the Beast. But the memory of that molten fire echoed in them. Something in their depths moved when he blinked, like banked coals shifting under ash. Her heart stuttered. No. Her gaze snagged on the ink. A swirling tattoo painted his right arm from shoulder to wrist—black sigils twisting over his bicep, winding down his forearm. It didn’t stop there. The marks

I couldn't let her walk away without trying. Mallory seemed to like that I tried. She finally unfastened the final knot, and the rope fell to the floor, except for the end which she still held. Her fingers were heavily decorated with rings. Some featured heavenly bodies like stars and moons, while others bore symbols I couldn't quite recognize. They adorned her hands, and the tips of her fingers—along with half of each finger, skin inclusive—were painted a stark, deathly black. Such intriguing, dangerous fingers.

I added breathily, the cool air hitting my soaked folds making me shiver with need. Blake chuckled softly, eyes burning with desire. He then slid two fingers of his left hand into his mouth, coating them generously with saliva. As he pulled them out, thick strings of saliva trailed from his fingers and dripped down his chin. “You use your left?” I quipped curiously as I settled more comfortably on the tattoo bed, getting myself ready for him. He nodded. “Have you never been finger-fucked by a lefty before?” He asked with a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, baby. My left hand is about to ruin you in the best way.”

But even that reminder doesn’t stop my mind from flashing images of him behind my closed eyelids. The roots that are inked all over his groin, stems growing over his stomach, until they bloom into different colored flowers on his chest that I’ve felt his heart racing in. Black and white snakes, their bodies tangling down one thigh while a night sky, with a blood red moon and black birds in flight play out on the other. His neck, that ink that’s been bitten between my teeth, with feathers spread on both sides, a colorful dragon breathing bright orange-reddish fire on the front, coming up till just under his chin. And his back, that my nails have sunken into, scratched, grabbed for mercy, cove

The way his fingers expertly rubbed all over my folds, putting one in to see if I was already wet for him and spreading it all over my clit, made me breathless. I turned to face him and my eyes first landed on his smile. After sixteen years it never changed. He lifted my chin so our eyes would meet and my heart pounded in my chest as he held my gaze. Our lips touched softly, while he resumed to finger me. I caressed his chest, loving the rose vine tattoo going all the way to his back and the whole of his right arm. Dark green leaves and thorns with beautiful tiny red roses hugged him. I broke off our kiss and propped my head on my hand. Gareth smiled as I traced the vines with my finger. “Do

My breasts tingle, my hands sizzle with the need to reach out and touch him. I don't know what he reads on my face but his eyes have gone cold again and his voice is even more intimidating. "Put down the cloth." I'm no good at following orders, never have been, especially those given by men. I have no idea why the cloth slips from my fingers and lands in the bowl. Dagger leans in and picks it up. His chest is inches from my eyes and his tats fill my vision. The ink appears prison-grade, but the artwork is intricate. A Grim Reaper stands over a crying woman holding a swaddled baby. The design weaves into swirls of flowers with branches that turn to thorns as they flow further out across his c

I caught sight of a tattoo… a silver viper etched into his skin, glistening in the low light. I let my fingers trace the design, the coolness of the ink contrasting with the heat radiating from his body. Mason watched me, his intense gaze flickering as I danced, my ass grinding against his growing arousal. Shit, this reminded me of what we did during the Howling Night…

Marcus continued slowly. “He said when she handed him candy, her wrist was exposed for a moment. On it was a very unusual tattoo.” Marcus took out another photo. It was a child’s drawing. A twisted pumpkin face, its mouth split all the way to the ears, its eyes hollow spirals. “This kind of gothic-style tattoo… a lot of people have them…” My voice grew quieter and quieter. Marcus said nothing. He simply placed a third photo in the center of the table. The background was a beach and the open sea.