Dark Gothic Finger Tattoos Novels & Stories

“Hungry for cock. My ass and my cunt are itching for a dirty adventure. Can you feed me, you filthy tattooed bastard? I want something thick that stretches me until I scream cumming in this fucking alley.” Diego let out a low, guttural, predatory laugh that vibrated in the damp air, closing the distance in two long strides and pressing his muscled body against hers against the wet, cold wall. The impact made her gasp; the rough brick scraped her back through the coat, but the pain only fueled her arousal, like a preliminary slap. His large, calloused hands slid up her bare thighs, rough fingertips grazing soft skin, feeling the sticky wetness dripping from her panties, the heat of her pussy

She hadn't realized, thought it was just his way of intimidating her. As she looked at him his expression changed, the sinister thug dropping away to be replaced by a wondering look. He brought a hand up and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. She blinked and glanced down at his hand. He had a tattoo of the word hell on his finger. It scared her into pushing his hand away and sliding sideways out of his reach.

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’

They planned to carry out their search throughout the night, using the power of the full moon to strengthen them. I closed my eyes and allowed the water to cascade over me. The feeling of large hands gripping my hips induced a sigh. Sparks shot up my body, stronger than usual and when I looked down, I realized why. Victor did not have a single drop of ink tainting his beautiful tanned skin but Alpha Quade had tattooed his pale skin to the brim, leaving no area untouched. Holding my hips were a set of tattooed hands.

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

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…