Forearm Dove Tattoo Novels & Stories

He shrugged off his shirt completely, and damn. My eyes wandered there until my breath caught. I’d seen his body before—countless times—but he always looked sexier than the last. My eyes lingered on his V-line, disappearing into his pants. I began to take in his abs, wandering my eyes until—my breath caught. On the right side of his chest, tattooed deep into his skin, was my name. **Allison. Beneath it, a red-winged dove holding a ring in its beak. My name. Burned into him. A signature he wore with pride.

River's POV My finger traces down the dove tattoo on his chest carefully. I was crazy; I should pull away. I shouldn’t be staying in the same bed with him even after learning he has nightmares about her… It was just… sex. Fuck, but just tonight in this bed, his hand curled around me as I watched him sleep peacefully; it gave a crazy fantasy that was never going to happen. He wasn’t the only one messed up; I was too.

"I like that bike and it belongs to me." Darren was tall, towering over all the soldiers in the room. Despite his rugged appearance, there was a softness to his features that hinted at a gentler side. His eyes were warm cobalt blue, and the naughty smile on the side of his lips indicated that he didn't give a fuck about everyone who would stay in his way. His arms were strong and lean, with bulging biceps and defined veins that ran the length of his forearms. But it was his back that truly caught my attention. A magnificent eagle, wings outstretched, was tattooed across his broad expanse of skin. Its feathers were intricately detailed, with each one a masterpiece in its own right.

That is after stuffing myself with good food and slap a ridiculous amount of skincare on my face including this gold mask. The next thing I know I'm being carried to the bed by those strong tattooed arms. ‘forEVEr’ or the way we pronounce it for-eve-err can easily be read from his right arm. Previously he only tattooed his left hand with drawings so I asked why not the other hand, why not words instead of drawings, so many why's that the next time I saw him I caught those Roman words already inked on his right arm. He told me he only put my name there because he's saving space for his three kids under mine.

The light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen disappeared into the towel and the only thing marring the beauty of his skin was the angry red mark on his chest, just a few inches away from his heart where he had been shot yesterday. Now that he was finally unclothed, I was able to see the tattoo on his left arm. It was a picture of a phoenix in flight and it was magnificent. The artist had focused on every tiny detail down to the red eye of the phoenix and somehow, it suited him. He was just as majestic as the bird.

Opening it, he pulled out some gauze and a bandage. “Could I properly wrap your wrist now, Little Dove?” He asked. I nodded and held out my arm with his tie tied around it. He went to push up my sleeve, but I stopped him. He looked at me before gently removing my hand and pushing the sleeve up. I felt more than saw the anger coming from him when he saw all the scars on my arm. He didn’t say anything, but he unwrapped the now bloody tie and cleaned the wound with some alcohol wipes before putting some gauze over it and gently wrapping a bandage around it and pulling my sleeve back down. “That will do until we can get you home and get it stitched and looked after properly.” “What’s going to ha

I said. “No! You are going to stay and tell me what happened. If I hurt you, you will tell me, and I will fix that.” He grabbed my wrist, using just one of his hands to control the wheel. He rolled up half his sleeve, and I could see the tattoo on his arm. It was a dove tattoo, but that wasn't what caught my attention; it was the date underneath it. It was July 13th, 1999. That date stuck to me like a second skin, but seeing it on his arm as a tattoo?

I bent over the dead soldier, my heart heavy as I realized that the same tattoo adorned his neck as well. he design was unlike anything I had seen before, yet there was an unsettling familiarity about it, a memory tugging at the edges of my mind. The tattoo depicted a flying demon, its wings outstretched, eyes aglow with an otherworldly luminescence. The level of detail was astonishing, every line and curve capturing the essence of the creature in a way that was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. The artistry was undeniable, but there was an underlying malevolence that sent shivers down my spine.

Her hands instinctively flew to her breasts. He walked towards her, rolling his sleeves even higher. His forearms flexed the multiples veins that complimented his tattoos, “Get in,”

As he turned back toward her, something caught her eye. A mark on his left forearm, faint and partially hidden beneath the edge of his sleeve. When he lifted his arm, the fabric slipped just enough for the ink to show. A tattoo. Not decorative. Not artistic. Sharp lines. Clean angles. A symbol. Her breath stalled. She had seen that mark before, in Damon’s documents. The same emblem next to covert operatives assigned to missions with no civilian disclosure. She didn’t think so. She didn’t breathe. “Kai,” she whispered, her voice thin, “what is that?”