Half Sleeve Tattoos Men Novels & Stories

He winked at my seatmate. He returned that dazzling smile and hefted the suitcase easily. As he placed the luggage in the compartment, his body stretched in one powerful, graceful movement. His muscles flexed in his arms, and as the left sleeve of his T-shirt rose, I could see the edge of a tattoo—a dragon? – which seemed to curl around his biceps. The T-shirt molded to strong shoulders, hard pecs. She stepped free of her beltless jeans. My gaze traced the line of his fly to register that the jeans molded something quite attractive, too.

I couldn’t quite see what exactly was wrong with what I was wearing. "And?" I asked, looking at my father. "What’s wrong with this?" "For one, you’re showing too much skin." My father pointed out. "Nothing wrong with that. It is nice and decorated, so at least it isn’t bare." I responded, flashing a smile. My full-sleeve nautical tattoo ran the length of my arm and a tribal owl covered my right thigh. I had to admit, my skin was fun to look at, probably why I loved showing it off. I had a few other tattoos hiding below my clothes, but my father didn’t have to know that.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” His question drew my attention to the tattoos on his upper bicep, and I noticed that all of the men wearing short or sleeveless tops were sporting the same one. It was an insignia, one I recognized only because I’d come across it in prison. I knew it was associated with an underworld gang and only then did I realize the extent of the situation I was finding myself in.

His trousers were an abomination. His movements were like that of a hunter marking a room full of prey, deciding which one he wanted to feast on. It turned out that the shirt he had on, underneath his jacket, was sleeveless. Completely. The cut was high and deep, exposing not only his arms, but most of his shoulders and a tease of the sides of his chest. The top was completely covered, like a tank top with a mock turtleneck. It was both masculine and sensual at the same time, something that took great confidence for anyone to wear.

That was the first time ever that she would see him in casual wear. A silver chain resembling that of a soldier hung down from his tattooed neck and the short sleeve revealed all the tattoos on his arms. The man was a work of art on two feet. Literally.

Giving us one of her usual glares, she walks inside the resort, leaving us to check-in. ************************************************************************ The door to my right opens, revealing Samuel only in his sweatpants. Coming out of the bathroom, he dries off his hair with a small towel wrapped around his neck. I can't stop myself from gawking at his lean but defined body. My eyes roam over his tattoo, which covers his entire left arm and the left pectoral. This is the first time I have actually seen his tattoo on full display. The tattoo design, which seems to be inspired by a tribal tiger tattoo design, looks magnificent on him.

And if you complain too much, I'll start rolling on you. With a little effort, Elena managed to get his shirt off and was amazed at how many tattoos he had. The room was only dimly lit – a lamp was turned on in the left corner of the bed – so she couldn't see very well, but she could see the shape of some of them. His left shoulder had some sort of tribal tattoo, very detailed, full of shapes and not leaving too much skin exposed. The rest of her arm had a fire snake that went all the way to the wrist, which is why she had never seen it, as she had only seen him in long sleeved shirts and they were hidden all the time.

Cain is lounged back in a leather easy chair, his two friends spaced out on the nearby couch. My attention travels back to Cain and I have to cover my mouth so they won't hear my dreamy sigh. Holy moly. He gets more irresistible every time I see him. In the old white T-shirt he's wearing, I can finally see his tattoos. They rake down his arm in spikes and brushes of bluish green. The material of the shirt is thinner than his usual flannel, so I can see patterns of his chest hair underneath, more tattoos sneaking out over the neckline.

Yes, I want a mate, but I will not turn down an evening with the fine specimen of a male sitting across from me. Because damn, he is fine. He’s in a simple outfit consisting of a white button up and black slacks, but he is wearing it. He’s left the top three buttons of the shirt undone, revealing the edge of a tattoo on his left pectoral, and through the fabric of the shirt I can see it extends across his chest, to his shoulder and down his left bicep. He’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and there is another tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.

Suddenly, the air is too thick as the sexual tension between us surrounds the air we breathe. I bring my eyes down his body, shamelessly checking him out. He’s dressed in a black dress shirt, with the two top buttons unbuttoned, giving a clear view of his pec tattoos. The sleeves are folded to his forearms, showing off his colorful full-sleeve tattoos that end on his wrist. His bottom half is covered in black slacks, with the dress shirt tucked in.