Literary Tattoos For Book Lovers Novels & Stories

The pull in your chest like an invisible rope tying you to another person, the overwhelming need to be close to them, to touch them, to never let them go, the certainty deep in your bones that this person was meant for you and you were meant for them. THE MATE BOND! I felt the bond, I felt it too..but this ? This didn't make any sense, rhis couldn't be right. "You're beautiful, Ara," Kael said again, still running his fingers through my hair, he was smiling at me with Nathan's face and it was the softest, most genuine smile I'd ever seen on those features. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms hard enough to draw blood. My eyes were burning and I knew they had to be turning

Whenever an idea struck, I wrote it down before it could slip away, hoping one day it would grow into something worth calling a book. "I found this near the hallway," he said lightly, turning it over once in his hands. "You really have a way with words, love." I moved without standing; he noticed and angled his body back. "Especially this part," he went on, flipping to a marked page. "The boy who hides his heart behind a crown of thorns." His smile widened, slow and knowing. "Funny thing is… Joseph Roland has a tattoo of thorns on his left bicep."

His shirt was cut open, exposing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of old scars, and one intricate tattoo along his ribs, a coiled serpent devouring its own tail, inked in deep black with faint crimson accents that looked almost alive under the low light. As I traced the antiseptic-soaked cloth along the edge of the fresh wound, my fingers accidentally brushed the tattoo. Lucas inhaled sharply. His hand shot out to grip my wrist, but instead of pushing me away, he held me there. His thumb pressed against my pulse point, and I felt it race. “You keep saving people who don’t deserve it,” he murmured roughly. “You should have stayed away from me when you had the chance."

and my wolf desires to be completely irrational with his bloodline. I swallow down the sudden lump rising in my throat, taking a permanent mental snapshot of his alpha frame like this—marked warrior tattoos fully on display, holding a massive stack of explicit sex and romance books. My mind fully understands why so many urban wolves have turned his name into an absolute thirst trap on the feeds. It is far too easy. I offer a warm smile, hoping my spirit never forgets this image of him, exactly like this, with the bright valley sunlight shining beautifully through the store’s front windows, his fierce eyes watching my face softly.

‘’Yes,’’ I answered sheepishly. Apart from his beautiful features, I get to admire some ink of his that are visibly available for my eyes. There was this one quote that caught my attention though, it’s written in Cyrillic script. ‘Life is nothing more than a nightmare, but death, the longing sleep dreams of life.’ The letters are in cursive writing tattooed on his neck, barely noticeable because it was being toppled over by a few stronger marks. A tail of a dragon was creatively cloaking the script, I’ve seen that dragon ink once, in that bathroom incident. I averted my gaze from him as soon as I realized I was staring too long. Scolding myself for being stupid. I shouldn’t be admiring him.

I acknowledged and finally got a good look at the man, his chocolate skin stretched over his wide shoulders and my eye involuntarily followed the path of the tattoos littering his arms. The clearing of his throat snapped me from my inspection and my eyes flew to his, where almost black orbs stared at me with an eyebrow raised. “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “The right is of a phoenix rising from the ashes and the left is a wolf in the dark forest.” He smirked, turning sideways so I could see his ink clearer in the sun. “Do you mind me asking what it means?” I reached my hand out to run my fingers over the wolf’s canines.

Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’ Why would that be the best place to be? “Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process. “They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…” “Were you sad in the past?” He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips. Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’ “You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I note out loud. “See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.”

Her mesmerizing and radiant beauty and the graceful curve of her figure, a captivating silhouette, drew his gaze like a moth to a flame. Her eyes, akin to liquid emerald pools, shimmered in the light, and he found himself ensnared in her eyes – where he felt the intoxicating pull of drowning within their captivating depths. Yet, it was the way she ogled at him that stole his breath away. Her eyes fixated on his tattoos, drawn to the intricate details inked into his skin. On his left arm, the Celtic Knot work with Fangs unfolded a captivating narrative, where fangs seamlessly blended with ancient Celtic motifs. The Veins and Blood tattoo, like a river of life, traced mesmerizing paths within

He asks, ever so the man of few words. I’m about to pick one in italics, but then I remember how nice his handwriting is, I love the way he writes his letter ‘Y’ and I want that tattooed on me. “Can you write it instead?” I ask, “I like your handwriting a lot, and add a little heart after the Y.” He closes the book, staring down at me with confusion, but he doesn’t say no. “Keep your legs spread and your knees up.”

I look at him and I feel like I'm going crazy. With a trembling hand, I touch the tattoos on his left hand. I feel hypnotized by them. There are thorns surrounded by roses. The drawing climbs on the cloth to the shoulder and then descends slightly on the back and chest. It's a great drawing. I follow it lightly with my fingers feeling tingling as I walk my finger over the tattoo. Something is written between thorns and roses near the heart. A name. "My Forever Elle". I put my hand to my mouth and sigh. What the fuck is this? Is this a bad joke?