Religious Forearm Tattoos For Guys Novels & Stories

Rex "This one's on me, sweetheart," I tell the brunette standing in front of me. I throw in a wink for good measure. Her eyes give me a once over, stalling on the tattoos that peek out from under my rolled-up shirt sleeves. Both of my upper arms are covered in tattoos I've designed myself but I've purposely kept my forearms bare. There's no rhyme or reason to it, simply a personal preference.

“You're not training with Dane today. Neither with Napoli, nor will you practice Muay Thai with Collins. He tossed his black jacket to the side and for the first time I got a glimpse of his biceps and discovered that he has tattoos on one of his arms. They look like Egyptian hieroglyphs, letters and a compass. I always kept in mind the numbers that she has tattooed on her fingers, but my fascination with it made me ignore them all this time so as not to lose my temper. I find that detail very attractive, but now that I see it... I don't know how I'm going to control myself.

A second masked man had appeared and had succinctly sneaked up to deliver the blow. Fuck it! Fuck being weak! Before my consciousness went off, I caught sight of the tattoo mark on the shoulder of the second man. His sleeveless arm featured the tattoo of a tiger, a snake and a crown. That insignia was very familiar. But my brain couldn't conjure where I had seen it before. I kept staring at it as my eyes shuttered to a close, just then an image popped up in my mind's eye. Wait….what the actual hell?

The smooth velvety warm caramel skin clung to seductive massive curves of muscle, trailing up to broad full shoulders Outlined in what appeared to be intricate golden tattoo ink in hieroglyphic patterns some I recognized like the Ankh the Egyptian representation of life on his rose gold armored gauntlets, others were completely unrecognizable to me with their intricate curves. My eyes slowly traced his tattoos the odd tribal patterns leading from his wrist up to his forearm up his biceps disappearing beneath his armor. Each new glimpse of his body sending my pulse through the roof. I could barely breathe with the way he was holding me so close to his chest. As I looked up at the face of my r

He walked to the left side of the room, gently placing his longsword on an old wooden rack, almost soundlessly. Then he lifted both hands and took off his outer coat, a long, cloak-like garment. Now he was left in a tight black shirt that clung to his body, outlining the muscles on his chest and arms. I couldn’t help but glance at those arms—veined, muscular, and covered in tribal tattoos that formed some sort of family emblem. But of course, I said nothing about it.

His sleeve rides up, revealing the edge of a mantis tattoo. “-Fuck”

The rough rope against my pulse. They’re shirtless now. Both of them. Identical hard chests, identical tattoos, a geometric pattern that starts at the shoulder and wraps down the bicep, and their sweatpants are tented obscenely. Thick, straining, and I can see the outline of them. Both of them. Identical there too.

tattoo and he had gotten a lot thicker in mass. "Is that a....a tattoo?" I asked not knowing how to feel about it. He had on a white long sleeve shirt so I wasn't able to see it clearly. He then took the shirt for me to see and what I saw surprised me. Kristrin had a few tattoos, one included a phoenix tattoo across his back, a crown tattoo with the word King on top on his left shoulder to the front, more like the collarbone. One of a lion on his right shoulder and a small tattoo of an eye that looked distinctively a lot like mine.

Even with his back turned, Raeya could feel the authority emitted by her brother. The chief was wearing a cape trimmed with dark gray wolf fur. He also wore wristbands made of black iron etched with old runes. Raeya knew he was shirtless, as was the custom of the Rigiddin, to be bare and raw yet strong. He looked back to her for a moment. A single strip of tattoo ran from his right eye down to his foot. “Heal her.” That was when she realized he wasn’t looking back at her.

I froze. He was tall—broad in the shoulders, built like a man who had seen a hundred battles and walked away from all of them. His arms were bare, thick with muscle, marked with black ink that twisted into strange patterns across his skin. The tattoos climbed his neck and curled along his jaw.