Men's Bible Verse Leg Tattoos 소설 & 이야기

The fiery burn lingered in my throat. "Nothing's wrong with being a gentleman, but pretending to be one just to impress women doesn't make you one." I smirked, taking another swig of whiskey. I surveyed his outfit, taking in every detail. He wore a vivid red shirt left open to showcase a muscular chest inked with a roaring lion whose fiery orange mane seemed to reach beyond his skin. Leonardo. Lion-hearted. That tattoo made perfect sense. A golden cross lay nestled atop the lion's mane, glinting in the light like a beacon of faith. It was clear that Leonardo wore his heart on his sleeve. His was a tattooed visual representation of his inner fire.

He can’t spare me, no matter how compliant I am. He stands from the bed and removes every piece of clothing from his body. The tattoos expand from his chest to his stomach, down to his strong torso. Black ink against his tanned skin. There are so many things written in Russian. But one particular thing catches my eye, it’s on his left torso, big and clear, “ To forgive is to sin.” The words send shivers racing down my spine. Who on earth writes something like that on their body? Not just write, but brand it into their skin permanently.

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.”

Some time later, when their breathing had steadied, Marcus reached under the bed and pulled out a small tattoo kit. "Spread your legs for me," he said, his voice low and commanding. Alex parted his thighs without hesitation, his heart racing with anticipation as Marcus worked with careful focus, applying black ink in simple block letters that would forever mark him as owned. Owned by #47892 The tattoo settled high on the inside of the right thigh, close enough to the groin that it would remain hidden unless the legs were deliberately spread. The needle stung in sharp little bites, making Alex bite his lip and breathe through the pain while Marcus kept one hand wrapped loosely around Alex's c

His eyes went completely cold, though something deep and dangerous burned in the amber depths. He walked down the corridor to his private wing, shutting the heavy door of his bedroom behind him. He unbuttoned his dark black shirt, shrugging it off his broad shoulders and tossing it onto a chair. As he turned, the dim light caught the dark ink staining his skin. A sharp, dangerous serpent tattoo wrapped tightly around his ribs. And etched across his broad back was a cold Spanish quote: La lealtad se paga con sangre. (Loyalty is paid in blood.)

Proud to be. I smirk slightly, looking down at his cock again, it makes my wrist look fucking small. My eyes blaze as I peel his boxers off and the sight in front of me makes me lick my lips. He’s perfectly groomed, the tip of his cock a smooth rounded tip and it’s shining with a few drops of precum. He has a tattoo just over his pubic bone, to the right side, a simple word but it looks so fucking hot. ‘Loyalty.’

I didn't know if he wanted to sound humorous but I wasn't buying that anymore. "The Bible says do not argue, twist or change the words of the scripture, exceptions cannot be made father, as the homosexuals from hell go back to their dwelling place isn't hating on your neighbor a sin, isn't wishing ill, thinking ill, saying bad things upon your neighbor a sin" My voice echoed through the chapel with conviction.

"For my final question, I'll ask you which of your tattoos is your favorite." "As you mentioned earlier with the song question, I can't choose just one. But, one of my favorites is this," he lifts the top of his shirt to reveal a quote tattooed in French on the left side of his outer collarbone. I'd seen it before but never knew its meaning. "Qui vivra terra," he pronounces, emphasizing the accent, "it means 'he who lives, shall see.'" I lean in to inspect his tattoo, despite having explored his body many times before. My hand rises on its own and gently brushes over the inked text, as if applying any pressure could erase it.

He flexed them, and I noticed his right arm had a tattoo of a tiger on it. I looked down; he had on shorts, but his legs ran for days, and the left side of his right foot had a cross sign tattoo on it. My eyes moved up to his chest again, and I noticed how toned it was. It wasn’t extremely defined, just the perfect size for him. His lower abdomen had six packs, which led me to the conclusion that he worked out a lot. I couldn’t see the extension from his lower abdomen because of his shorts, and I was disappointed by that.

Hated him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets slipping away and pooling on the bed, leaving nothing between his bare skin and my eyes. His back muscles rippled as he moved, and there it was—the ink etched across his shoulder blades: "Veni, Vidi, Vici." I came. I saw. I conquered. Running down his spine was a tattoo of a dagger, flanked by two cobras coiled around its blade, each poised to strike the other.