Roman Numeral Hand Tattoo Novels & Stories

If I wouldn’t have listened to him, he would have tightened his arm more and I would have ended up with shattered bones. His warmth was heartwarming and it gave me the courage to run my finger along his muscled tattooed arm and I made small circles along the lines of his tattoo. He had this artistic tattoo of a warrior on his forearm, wearing armor and he was looking up at the constellation and that moon that was inked in Romeo’s biceps skin. And I wondered what that tattoo was about.

I shake my head at him and look away. He's sitting with his knees pulled up and his arms draped lazily over them, giving me a view of his arm and hand tattoos. He has 'love' and 'pain' tattooed across his knuckles; on his right hand, he has a rose, and on the left, he has a skull. My eyes follow up his arms looking at the artwork on them for a second before I rip them away and return my glare to him.

It's only after a deep velvety voice caresses my ear canals, that I open my eyes I comprehend that I haven’t hit the ground. I become increasingly aware of the warmth of huge muscular hands around my waist just below my breast. 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.

was written in cursive writing On the other there was nothing on it, it was empty without a single tattoo On his thumb, there was a cross symbol that was long, thick, and highlighted. On his right hand, there was a single letter on each finger that spells " fear " it was written beautifully and at the tip of the fingers, there was water drop, king crown, Music, dollar symbols they were beautiful to look at. And on his right wrist, there was a tattoo started with a single bent feather as I looked up it disappeared in his shirt sleeves.

He said and grabbed my hand before I could touch a tattoo on his left side of chest. “What is the meaning of your tattoo, it’s beautiful.” I complimented a beautiful and unique design with something written in old language. His lips which were on my mid riff, stopped and those hazy eyes again locked with mine. Did I make a mistake? I promised not to dig into his personal life until he’s ready to share it with me. “It is an ancient Roman symbol of war and victory and the phrase defines a man who never sees the defeat.” He explained the meaning of his tattoo to me. I was surprised, he didn’t shut me out.

“Saturday?” The doctor made a hmm noise, apparently not impressed with this man helping me. No surprise. Doctors were no fun. “How many fingers amI holding up?” Ronan translated. I stared at his other hand resting on his knee, at the tattoos on his fingers in between the first and second knuckles. One was a cross, another a raven. The third, a king of hearts playing card. Ink and déjà vu. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t stop myself from touching him, from drawing an index finger down the tattooed raven. The whispered words were pushed from my depths by an irresistible force.

As if I was looking at him for the first time, he laughed and I noticed how white and perfect his teeth are, how throaty and deep his laughing voice is, and how a beautiful vein protrudes out of his neck. He raised his hand that clutched the crystal tumbler and put it over his lips, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with each sip, his hands were so strong, so manly, with perfectly neat and trimmed nails. The tattoos, Good Lord, the tattoos were just chef's kiss. The Roman numerals over his fingers and the skull on the back of his hand were nothing less than a work of art. As their slurred voices reached my ears, I gulped down the rest of my drink. Evangeline and Delilah asked me if I want

Several bottles of liquor littered the floor. Christopher himself was standing before a huge canvas that had an incomplete drawing on it. His white singlet was soiled with paint and sweat and he held the brush tentatively. When he heard the door open, he turned sharply. I thought he was about to yell at me, but he didn’t. he just paused, staring at me as if I was a mystery.

“No way. I can take it. This tattoo is important to me, Alex.” I grin at her response. That’s my Stella—stubborn and determined to the core. She bites her lip, and her grip on my hand tightens as the needle continues its work. I stroke her knuckles with my thumb, hoping to ease some of her discomfort. “Just think about how amazing it’ll look once it’s done.” She grins at me. “I can’t wait.” Minutes later, the artist finishes, and the designs are perfect. On my wrist, the heart has the letter ‘S’ inscribed inside, and on hers, an elegant A.

Her skin was wet and slippery, so I simply dug my fingers in and kneaded. That tattoo down her spine was right in my face now. As I worked on her shoulders, I at last made a real effort at deciphering it. It was indeed Roman numerals, and I slowly pieced out that they were dates of some kind. Two of them. For a moment, I was affected. "Who was this?" I asked softly. I hadn't meant to turn our shower massage into an opportunity for bonding, but the tenderness was making me-- "Juice WRLD," she answered gravely.