Ethan Klein Tattoo Novels & Stories

“Probably one of Jessica’s friends. The glares she was giving me said enough.” Determined not to let my toxic ex ruin our night, we force ourselves to get back into the rhythm of the club. Soon, a group of guys approaches our table. One of them, a tall, blonde guy with ripped arms covered in tattoos and a soft smile for a build like his slides next to me. “I’m Ethan,” he says. Okay, he also has a sexy voice. “Mind if I buy you a drink?” We end up talking. He's an artist and owns his own gallery so was telling me about some wonderful pieces he had come across. I also told him about some beautiful pieces in France too.

"But we both can still have a thing together... you know what I mean." "and be your lapdog... someone you sleep with, without any feelings attached." She hurled back at him. "Then go away, I have nothing to do with you then." He rejected her immediately and she finished with her words. Cara nodded her head in compliance to his rejection. She was about to take her leave when she stopped and turned back to him. Cara shifted aside and opened the upper part of her dress to reveal the tattoo on the side of her shoulder. "I've seen this from somewhere. Why is that logo there on your shoulder, who are you," Ethan questioned, expecting a response.

she exclaimed. Ethan chuckled lightly, "Taking a shower." He leisurely took off his clothes and looked at Isabella, who had her back turned. "It's not like you haven't seen it before." After an awkward pause of two seconds, she calmly turned around, her gaze fixed on Ethan's alluring physique. She finally noticed the small tattoo on his arm, which was still slightly red and covered with a layer of plastic wrap. Seeing the letters on it, she froze for a moment.

He just hoped Lucian would have dressed before he got back. Ethan winced at the ache in his neck and reached for it, gently rubbing. Had he slept with his neck in the wrong position? He sighed and finally looked at his reflection in the large mirror before him. Ethan knitted his brows at the sight of a strange dark pattern on his neck. A stain? Where did that come from? He reached up to try rubbing it off, but the mark remained. What the hell is it? The shape resembled a crystal—dark and weirdly intriguing. Ethan hated tattoos, so how could he have gotten one… overnight?

Next, he took the towel that was hanging on the hook at the back of the bathroom door, and with all three – he walked back into the room. Levi hesitantly took Ethan’s bottoms off as well, leaving him in his boxers. His heart was racing in his chest. He doesn’t know why he was so nervous doing this. This wasn’t a big deal. Ethan’s body still had fading bruises and cut marks on it. Through those bruises, Levi could see the tattoo on his thigh. That’s the only tattoo Ethan has, it is a dying flower. The tattoo was simple with no details. It was just an illustration of a dying flower. Levi tried not to stare at it and cleaned his body with a drenched towel.

I inwardly murmured to myself. Ethan had a tattoo on his back. Right across his shoulders were medium- sized horizontal wings. They looked a little Goth and almost Greco-Roman in their black inked starkness. I loved the quote underneath the wings. No more yielding but a dream. I saw it in the shower when he turned to get the soap.

I needed more. The next morning, I found Ethan in the stables, shirtless and sweating as he mucked out the horses. His back muscles rippled under tanned skin, a tattoo of a serpent coiling down his side. I leaned against the doorframe, wearing a short sundress that hugged my curves, no bra, my nipples pebbling in the breeze. 'Morning, big brother.' I said, voice light. He straightened, wiping his brow, eyes dropping to my chest. 'Delilah. Up early for you.'

He turned out of the shower as I turned to face him. Ethan looks at me from behind and scans my bare body with his hungry gaze as if trying to memorize it. I have to fight like hell not to flinch. I never anticipated feeling this exposed in front of him while naked, and the dumb self-consciousness just wouldn't go away. He calls out, "Come out. We need to go." and exits entirely. I have a clear view of his big shoulders and fitting back. In the center is a dagger tattoo that drips blood into a pit beneath it. It's so much Ethan, and it's also lovely and gory.

Ethan asked. “I don’t think it’d make any difference but you’re welcome to try. He won’t listen to a word I say. Belinda even spoke to him on my behalf and he still didn’t listen.” “He’ll come around. It might take time but he surely will. But if he doesn’t, you can always dump his ass and come to me,” he joked, giving me a wink. I smiled at Ethan, my eyes trailing over his body. His chest glistened with sweat under the warm sun and his dark hair tousled and stuck to his forehead. Then something caught my eye−the spider tattoo on his chest. My heart skipped a beat.

Adrian entered with Ethan in his arms, without turning on the main lights—only the warm LED strips around the mirror and ceiling, creating an intimate dimness. He carefully placed him on the heated marble floor. Ethan staggered, leaning against Adrian's chest. His large hands slid down to the hem of the oversized shirt that still covered him, slowly pulling it over his head. The fabric clung to his damp skin, revealing his marked body: purple hickeys on his neck, nipples, and the curve of his waist; red fingerprints on his thighs; his entrance still swollen, red, glistening with a mixture of both. Ethan tried to cover himself with his hands, embarrassed.