Inner Forearm Tattoos For Guys Novels & Stories

I had always imagined how romantic it was going to be, but right now, it hurts more than it pleases me. He had tattoos on his chest, arms, and hand. The tattoo on his chest had words I couldn't read because it was way too tiny; A lion on his arm with words I still couldn't read because they weren't English; and a rose on his arm with his mother's name tattooed in it.

"They're not rogues. The symbol on his left arm—it's from a northern pack." I followed his gaze and noticed a tattoo—a black 'S' with a small crescent moon in the center. "Do they have pack symbols tattooed?" I whispered, and the man was still engrossed in conversation with his companions, not looking directly at us, but his attention seemed focused on me. "Yes, but on my left chest." I shifted my gaze to him. "What does it look like?" My fear from moments before had dissipated, perhaps because having him beside me eased my trembling heart.

My gaze drops back down his torso, and that's when I notice the tattoos. Five aligned stars on the side of his torso, near his ribs—the largest closest to the center, the others decreasing toward his back. They look like marks of conquest, as if each represents something only he knows. And on his right arm, a thin, precise line, slightly above the elbow, minimalist and geometric, like a discreet reminder that even a man like him has secrets etched into his skin. Holy shit. He's not just attractive — he's dangerous. This guy is pure testosterone.

It was a testament to his unwavering dedication to all aspects of his physical fitness. One of the most striking features on Logan's left arm was the anchor tattoo, a symbol known to represent strength and stability, perhaps even serving as a connection to his time in the marine. Yet, what made this tattoo particularly intriguing was an unexpected addition. Just below the anchor, a smaller, seemingly incongruous tattoo came into view. This tattoo was a depiction of a little girl holding a toy, a charming but puzzling image etched onto his skin. It seemed to tell a story of its own, one that didn't readily align with the symbolism of the anchor.

I didn’t even notice when he masked his scent—that sharp, metallic tang of the predator—but he did, smoothing the air between us. He draped the jacket over my shoulders. It was heavy and still warm from his body. His eyes looked like the eyes of someone who wanted the world to burn, just to stay warm by the fire. So much sadness. It was an ocean he was drowning in. That was when the sleeve of his shirt pulled back, and I noticed the tattoo on his inner forearm. Bold, scrolling script that looked out of place on a scholar. *My wife said I should get this because I’m taken. Touch me and her dragon will burn you alive.*