Patriotic Arm Tattoos Novels & Stories

I took my hand back and muttered a sorry. Let him hold her today. I thought. The moon was shinning brilliantly through the curtains of the cloud and the light was falling on Damien's right arm which was completely tattooed. I don't know if he has tattoos on his back and chest but as much I have seen only his right arm is tattooed and his left arm is free of them.

I looked from his inked chest, the tattoos on his chest, Caramel was written on his right arm, Roseanna - Momma was written on his other arm. A large Phoenix laid on his chest, I bit my lips harder as I stare at his lower region, Fuck, I think, no, I know I'm gonna die when he ever - fuck - that thing in me, It's fucking huge, Fuck, how on Earth?. . . I don't even know what to think. I walked around him to his back --- partly because I was dying to see his naked fine ass ---, On his back laid. . .nature, there's no other word to describe it other than Nature.

An artist from the wrong side of the river who didn't belong here. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "A tattoo artist," he said. "That explains the ink. May I?" _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> He gestured to my arm, and I extended it without thinking. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> His fingers wrapped around my wrist, cool and precise, turning my arm to examine the tattoos. A geometric mandala on my inner forearm. Script in Sanskrit along the outer edge. A phoenix rising from ashes near my elbow.

He is gorgeous to behold. He had a tattoo on his right pectoral of a wolf howling. That continued down his upper arm to a forest scene, with a dark-haired woman kneeling amongst a black wolf, two gray wolves, and a solid white wolf. The woman appeared familiar to me, but I didn’t get the best look. There was another tattoo below it that encased his forearm in a skull with an ornate feather headdress. There was a black tribal bracelet tattooed around his wrist, and on the top of each finger were unique wooden arrows. Not one arrow was the same. On his other hand was a dream catcher with various feathers on his fingers.

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

His hand caressed my breast underneath my clothes. Arman slowly unbuttoned my dress, and as he pulled away from kissing me, he took off his long white sleeves. I saw that he had a tribal Lycan tattoo on the right side of his chest. I read about this in some books at the library, and it's pretty cool that Arman got this tattoo. I wanted to ask, but I couldn't because he was kissing my neck, chest, and back to my neck again. His tongue was so hot that it could drive me crazy by making me want more.

The beast who almost managed to entice me into a lap dance that would have been appropriate for a Turkish Nights fantasy. The one with eyes that are as dark as the night sky and as blue as midnight. The black, bleeding ink of his tattoos is almost as stunning as the tattoos themselves. These vivid fever eyes of his are closed, and I wish that they remain closed for the foreseeable future. It is not necessary for them to question me in order for me to comprehend the full and terrifying significance of what has occurred here. His tattoos are quite effective. I immediately identify the American flag that is tattooed on his arm, as well as the fierce eagle that is tattooed on his breast.

He was shirtless. I couldn’t help but notice the lines of his muscles rippling beneath his skin, the definition of his broad back, his sculpted shoulders. Every strike seemed to pull the muscles of his back into sharp relief, his skin flushed from exertion. His inked arm was a work of art—dark tattoos that twisted and swirled across his skin, snakes and vines wrapping around his biceps and forearm. The intricate designs seemed to come alive with every movement, as if they were telling a story only he could understand.

Trev had changed as well. Except he had forgotten a shirt, and I couldn't bring myself to be upset about that fact. His back was nicely toned and on one arm high-up was a tribal tattoo that ringed one huge bicep. Most of the time that type of tattoo was cliché. But on this man, it seemed to just emphasize the muscular arm. His jeans were well worn, with a few holes here and there, but they still cupped his backside like a glove.

His hand stops ruffling his hair and he says, "What, Heeriye?" "I… um… your tattoo. I mean, I want to ask, ``what does it represent on your body?" He frowns lightly and then eyes his hip, which contains the tail of the scorpion tattoo. "And also the direction on your arm," I add, pointing there. He raises up his eyes to meet mine. The look softens as it was emotionless when he was looking at his tattoos. "The direction on my arm indicates my decisions…" he walks closer and shows me his arm. I zero in on his arm and find the aesthetic compass is showing north only.