Novel & Cerita Middle Neck Tattoos

“is just for fun.” Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?” “You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped. One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve. The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger. The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.

Mea Dea, my goddess in Latin, despite wanting to spit at him to address me properly, my heart races. “You can call me Queen Aylin,” I force out in a hiss, although his smirk tells me I don’t sound convincing. I break eye contact with him to look him over. He is truly carved to perfection. He’s wearing a tank top, which shows the entire tattoo on his neck. It’s a black and white piece of a phoenix, midflight with its mouth open in a scream, surrounded by fire. The wings extend onto the front and back of his neck in brilliant detail and the fire down to his collarbone. He also has several different pieces down both arms, none of which I bother to look at since I’ve been looking at him for far

Lucile interrupted with a question “does he have a scorpion tattoo on his back” Again in shock and disbelief, “what” Nena answered. “I said, does he have a scorpion tattoo on his back” Lucile re-iterated “precisely on the left side of his back, right below his shoulder blade” The line remained silent as nena was still in shock at the realization of the facts Lucile had just declared. She had always wondered what that tattoo had always signified but never curious enough to ask. Actually she was not curious enough to ask a lot of other things.

Saint was about to look away grudgingly when Nicholas's towel lowered itself and then fell to the floor, revealing a tattoo. His gaze snagged on it before he could even stop himself. The tattoo rested low on Nicholas's back, directly above his waist. The design climbed the base of his spine in elegant black lines. Sharp points and sweeping curves intertwined around a narrow central shape that resembled a watchful eye. Thorn-like flourishes stretched outward before curling back in on themselves, giving the impression of something dangerous held barely under control.

I immediately look away, cheeks burning, a visceral unease in the pit of my stomach. Around 11 a.m., he takes off his suit shirt, remaining in a tight grey t‑shirt that perfectly hugs his broad shoulders and muscular chest. I try not to look. Really. But my eyes slide despite themselves over the tattoos that peek out from the short sleeves: black geometric lines, Orthodox symbols, a stylised raven on his left forearm. I freeze.

A tattoo—small but intricate—etched just below my skin. The infinity symbol, its delicate lines looping and intertwining seamlessly, radiated a sense of endless continuity. It was beautiful but haunting. A chill ran down my spine as I lightly traced the design with my fingers. My skin tingled at the touch, as if the mark carried some latent energy.

I also noticed his tattoos stretching from his wrist to his neck to his other wrist. It reminded me of Ace and how his sleeve stops near his shoulder where as this guy had both arms covered. "Do you like my tattoos?" he pulled up his sleeve, showing me more of the tattoos. "Yeah, they're cool" I commented, not trying to come off as flirty.

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

he smirks. “I had a good teacher” I said against his skin, kissing the crook of his neck. I release my hand that was in his hair and start buttoning his shirt clumsily. I pressed my hand flat over his hard chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart while kissing from his shoulder over to his chest. I spotted a small Italic tattoo right under his breastbone, and my eyes widened in surprise. Nathan with a tattoo is unbelievable. I trail my index finger over the words that were written in a language that I did not understand.

Arnold paused before exiting and leaned down, tapping the gun to my forehead: “Stay put.” I caught it then. A flash of skin above his collar — his turtle neck had slipped down slightly. There, beneath it, was a tattoo, inked deep into the side of his neck. A pattern of overlapping scales, stylized like… ‘Is that a snake?’ I thought. It looked familiar. ‘Where have I seen that before?’ I was so lost in thought I almost missed when they actually stepped out. And then I was alone again. The room seemed quieter now. But the silence wasn’t comforting.