Hardin Scott Tattoos Novels & Stories

Sharon was showing me her side boob, where her skin was beautifully tattooed with a large peony flower. “Beautiful, but seriously too much skin for me and I’m not even drunk yet.” I laughed, making her pout at me, but then grinned as she started blabbering about the new tattoo artist who she had just hired. “He’s the sexiest man alive! He had tats hidden under his clothes and I would see glimpses of them. He said his grandma doesn’t like them, so he would only tattoo the skin under his shirt and pants. Ohhhh... how I wish to see his whole tats...” she looked at me dreamily, making me laugh a bit too loud.

SYDNEY "How did you get these?" I murmured, tracing the pad of my finger over one of the many pink scars marking Quade's skin. He wished the tattoos did their job of hiding the scars away from me but they caught my eye each time. There was something painfully beautiful about every one of them. They held a story, the story of how he survived and persevered. He hissed, clenching the sheets in his tattooed fist, "You don't want to know."

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."

For the most part, humans party, so we decided to come back to the hotel. The second I kick off my ankle boots, my feet relax in absolute delight. I exhale with relief, my fingers at the bite again as I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. "Do you want to go first?" I ask Hardin, my eyes bluntly watching his abs as he removes his t-shirt. Bronze skin, scars, tattoos, and just overall large build, is enough to make me ogle without realising.

However, something else caught my attention, and it was the prolonged eye contact that got my mind racing. I studied him closely: dark brown hair, captivating eyes, tattoos, a possible troubled past, and an interest in a girl like me, at best. If that didn't scream 'Hardin Scott vibes,' I didn't know what did. But I knew that luck often didn't favor me, and this guy was probably nothing like the bad boy whose heart was won by the beautifully described Tessa Young. Nevertheless, my curiosity got the best of me. "Okay, I'll take a chance and ask...did you make a bet about me with your friends?" I blurted out, unable to hold back my boldness.

“The one I cut on the back?” I blinked at her. “You mean the little asswipe with the shitty tattoo who wanted to fuck up my pretty face with his brass knuckles? Yeah, I’m fairly positive I don’t care if he’s okay. But from the way he lit out of there like his tail was on fire, I’d say he’s just fine.” “It wasn’t a shitty tattoo,” she mumbled. “It was the eye of Horus. Some thought it was a symbol to ward off evil, but it’s actually supposed to symbolize healing.”

A voice yelled. I turned around and Scott came out of his car. Johnson was running towards me. "I gotta show you something!" He started removing his shirt. "What are you doing?" He removed his shirt and turned his back to me. On the upper side of his back, something was tattooed there in calligraphy. Never call a woman a bitch or she might just act like one. - T. Harvey "What do you think of it?" He turned to me, smiling goofily. "We're not even friends," I said and entered the car. Scott ignited the engine and drove out.

We get out of the car and start walking on the sidewalk, "I do like her, but I don't want her to know." "Okay," I roll my eyes. "Are you going to get a tattoo with us, General?" Hunter asks, opening the door to 'Zander's Greatness'. My father shakes his head. "Nah. I'll wait for you guys at that bar,” he points, “While you get your little drawings done." Zander is a bald man covered in ink who has done ten of my tattoos. My favorite ones, the ones that mean the most to me. This time, Hunter and I get the date of our departure tattooed just below the tattoo we got last year, which is the same, just a date. Small and simple.

Finally, he opened the drawer in the middle of the cupboard, he pulled out the drawer and saw a pile of paper that was not so much. Then, he pulled out the drawer and put it on the bed. He opened each fold of the paper until he finally found a small note tucked into the bottom of the drawer, a tattered, worn, and slightly dirty notepad. However, Scott can still read every message. The note read, Mr. Hanson, if you knew who was behind all this? At first, I never thought that he would target you. You are just a tool for him to avenge the hurt of rejection. How ironic. He was too cunning and dangerous. Too bad you believe in him so much. May your son be protected from harm in the future. But, I

Without hesitation, I fetched my phone out of my pocket and browsed on the internet what it meant if someone had a tattoo of a scorpion on his wrist. Some images were displayed on my phone screen and even before I could read out the content behind the scorpion tattoo, someone already beat me to it. "It symbolizes the membership of a well-known dangerous gang known as the Gun fire men." A familiar deep voice rung out loud from behind.