Inner Bicep Tattoos For Men Novels & Stories

Russian's POV A man in his late forties stepped into the basement, his bald head gleaming under the dim light. A tattoo of a fierce scorpion snaked from his neck to his scalp, marking him as someone not to be trifled with. His body was a canvas of ink, displaying various tattoos that told stories of battles fought and won. He dressed sharply, with a few buttons of his shirt undone, exuding an air of relaxed authority. He walked with a noticeable limp, leaning on a sturdy walking stick that seemed to amplify the aura of danger surrounding him.

The shame that had felt so sharp simply dissolved, replaced by a deep, needy warmth. At that moment, Marcus walked into the room wearing only a pair of black pants that hung low on his hips. His powerful, muscular chest was now fully on display. It was broad, thick, and heavily defined from years of strength training. His shoulders were wide and imposing, tapering down to a strong, V-shaped torso with visible abs. The large black tattoo of a roaring lion on his left forearm seemed to come alive as his muscles flexed with every movement. A light dusting of dark hair covered his powerful pecs, trailing down in a thin line toward his waistband.

Entering the bedroom, he walked to the edge of my bed, laying me gently on the mattress. He started unbuttoning his shirt. Removed his boots next, followed by his jeans. He stood tall in glory, athlete-built, just in his black Calvin Klein briefs, his dick huge and erect, pointing to me. And he has tattoos. They run from his shoulder to his upper right bicep with inscriptions and also Roman Numerals. God, could he look any better than this? A sight for sore eyes. This man.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” I let out a yelp as four guys came around the corner. I came to a stop and moved backward as they got closer. They were large, three times my size, and had black ink covering the exposed parts of their bodies. They laughed and they laughed while lustfully gliding their eyes over my body. I took another step back.

Personally, this was the safest I had felt in years and I don't think I am ready to end the moment so soon. We had unconsciously fallen into a rhythm. He drew small circles on the side of my hip right where my only tattoo rested while I slowly trailed down his chest tracing the tattoo on his left bicep, where his own tattoos rested, but unlike me, he had two, he had gotten another one since the last time.

At least he had a shirt on that day. Then something caught my eye. On his left pec, near his heart, there was now a tattoo. Unconsciously I stepped forward so I could get a closer, better look at the newly designed tattoo. It was the name 'Baby B' in cursive italics. Under the name were two red roses in the form of an 'x'. My fingers were itching to touch the newly done tattoo but I knew better.

He was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, and the fact that he was carrying a bunch of treats means he not only has animals, but he must care about them, which instantly makes someone more attractive in my eyes. He has tattoos on his left bicep, just barely peeking out from the under the sleeve of his shirt. Sinking onto my bed, I pull my tank top off, totally not thinking about whether or not those tattoos go up his arm, over his shoulder, and down his chest. Which, of course, is firm and muscular.

Never show your weaknesses or ways that you can be hurt. ‘‘Such as …?’’ He leans back on the couch throwing his arm over as he turns to me and rests confidently, arm bent as it accentuates the open neck of his button-down and showcases the peeks of tattoo curling up from the depths and behind his ear from up the side of his neck. I always wondered how far and wide that black ink spread on his body and it still intrigues me. There is no denying that tattoos make most men sexier and Alexi doesn’t need the help. It does, however, add to the sinister look he has going on and that is not an entirely bad thing.

His blazer is missing, revealing his huge biceps working on the buttons of his shirt. Each ab is unveiled as he makes his way down. After the final one, he strips the shirt off. I'm so fucking screwed. He may be shorter than Liam, but his muscles definitely have Liam beat. Besides just the size, the older age that adds definition to them. His abs aren't a perfect washboard, and that gives them character. His arms have colorful tattoos with parts spilling onto his smooth chest. When he starts to take off his shoes, I get up and walk to the ring. Afterwords I put on a pair of the gloves.

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.