Shoulder Blade Tattoos Male Novels & Stories

He had a long sleeved shirt on since I had met him, so I had never noticed them before. He also had his name tattooed across his shoulder blades, and a date inscribed below it. His chest and arms were muscular, just like his brothers, and I couldn’t help but admire his form. I intended to look away but he caught me before I could. “You see something you like?” He chuckled. He sounded like Ramses right then and my heart skipped a beat. I sat back up in bed pulling the blanket over my chest. “I just never knew you had so much artwork.” I said. He looked down at his arms. “Oh these? I’ve had them for years. I tend to forget they are there, really.” He said. He then started taking his pants off.

I couldn’t focus on what he was saying at all, my attention completely stolen by his bare chest. I couldn’t help but notice the armband tattoo on his left arm. The word “Moretti” was inked in a beautiful Old English font, with detailed lines making it look even cooler. His tattoos just added to that tough, masculine vibe he had going on. Then I saw the tattoo on his back. A raven, placed right in the middle of his back, near his shoulders and neck. It was so well done, I couldn’t stop staring at it, totally impressed.

“Right there. Your name and music notes on either side. Maybe some little butterflies.” “Are you serious, Reb? That’s permanent, you know.” “I know. You don’t want me to?” She traced a tattoo on his forearm with one finger. It showed a dagger through a skull. It was a beautiful piece of art, but masculine. “Would you rather I get one that matches yours?” “I would love my name permanently etched on your sexy little back. I could stare at it while…” He lifted her shirt and took a peek at the area in question. “Damn…” he said breathlessly and gave himself a little shake. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

He pushed my shoulders back to look at my face then I nodded with pursed lip in incertitude. He took off his shirt and lied on the tattoo chair. Cartel came over and adjusted the chair for him to lie flat. "Where do you want it?" he asked. Jason pointed just above his pelvic, around the side of his abdomen. Cartel wiped the area with Alcohol, then adjusted the light to that area and stenciled the design on Jason's skin. He flashed a mirror at it and asked Jason if he liked it. Jason confirmed give him a thumbs up with nod of approval.

And I was surprised to learn that he also had a tattoo, because no photo showed it. It was the head of a lion at the top of his forearm, whose design was of black and bluish tones, so that it stood out perfectly on his Caucasian skin. Flynn said he still had plans to get more tattoos, but, like me, he had a formed and irreducible opinion about needles: A pain that could be avoided if it was not caused by a vaccine.

“It’s… laundry.” I rolled my eyes at myself as I undid the last button. But the second I pulled the fabric off his shoulders… I froze. His chest... God. I wasn’t ready. Toned, scarred, golden-brown skin that looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting. He had a few faint lines across his ribs, a darker scar near his shoulder, and a tattoo I hadn't noticed before, written in Russian, curling under his collarbone. I didn’t read it. I couldn’t.

Shelly said, understanding that I needed some space. “Okay, I'll see you soon.” I walked away and warded off to an even more secluded part of the woods and after a few minutes I heard groans that pulled my attention. I followed the sound but stayed hidden to my surprise I saw Adam, practicing martial arts. He was handling the blade as if it was an extension of his arm. To my surprise I noticed a large tattoo of a black wolf on his arm. He looked so hot, with sweat dripping all over him and in full concentration. After watching him keenly and drooling for a short while.

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.

I sprang from my bed, adrenaline pumping as I prepared to confront the intruder. My stance quickly relaxed, however, and a frown crossed my face when I saw who it was—Hayes Hawthorne, standing in my room shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Every inch of his body was sculpted like a Greek god, with sharp lines and rigid definition. A large tattoo sprawled across his upper chest and onto his left shoulder, dark and bold, forming a series of interconnected shapes that were both intricate and slightly thorny.

He has a tattoo on each arm, an eagle on one shoulder and a snake stretched out along the opposite forearm. Both of them are barefoot. When they reach me, I give them my best smile. "Where's your friend?" I ask, looking over their shoulders. "He'll be here in a moment," the tattooed man says. He continues to ogle me, a smirk slowly spreading across his mouth. The younger man just stands there and gapes. I know they both have the urge to grope me, but they manage to keep their hands to themselves for the moment. I glance down at the bulges in their pants and try to keep my own smirk to myself. A thrill rushes through me as I realize how aroused they are, just by staring at my sexy body.