Romans & histoires Shoulder Blade Tattoos Male

I'm not proud of it, and I don't want to do it again. "You're the best person I know," I tell him sincerely when he turns his head toward me. "Show me your tattoo." With a quiet chuckle, he turns and shows me his shoulder blade, which is tattooed with a target. I touch it and trace it with my fingers, smiling as I notice Jaden's skin break out in goosebumps. "Why a target?" "I wanted to cover it up." "Then why not a tiger, a dragon, or whatever else is trendy right now?"

They’re all tall, cut, and have the same natural confidence that Justus does. They all have tattoos like Justus, too, the same intricate maze of lines and spirals that wind around the simple outlines of boats or trees or fish, draped over their right shoulder, arm, and torso like a shawl. The older the male, the further their tattoos stretch down their right sides to their thighs. Some have tattoos all the way down the tops of their right foot. Even the oldest males seem willing and able to shred an interloper to pieces. There are so many cocks nestled in such thick pelts.

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig

I mumbled back defiantly. “See you soon,” he chuckled, finally leaving. “Not likely,” I called back, but he was gone far too quickly. Not quickly enough, so that I missed the show of him ripping off his shirt and throwing it down on the ground, exposing more battle scars and copious amounts of tattoos. There was a paw print on his shoulder blade, a circle with runes on the opposite shoulder, and three stars in the middle of his back. When he ran out the door, he still had on his pants, though I doubted they were going to stay on long.

Grace nearly dropped the soap. Scars, large and small, crossed his torso. She'd seen bullet scars before. There were two right next to each other under his left arm. She was so focused on the terrible scars that she barely noticed the black, abstract, curvilinear tattoos on his chest and shoulders. They were fierce, with what looked like stylized talons interwoven with curving, concentric whiplash curves. He was bruised almost black on his right side. More tattoos covered his wrists and elbows in precise, flowing patterns made up of repeating geometric shapes. The burn scar on his left hand was part of a larger burn that marred the tattoo right up to his elbow.

I tried so hard not to flush when I saw his naked torso; it was a sight to behold. Broad wide shoulders with lots of muscles, defined strong abs and on his left pectoral, there was a scary tattoo of a three-headed vicious dog, surrounded by flames. And a lot of scars were all over his abdomen. On his back, there was a full back length tattoo of some sort of grim reaper, angel! His grunts again brought me back from dreamland. I shook my head, clearing it; I gently touched the wounded area on his right, trying to understand what I was dealing with.

He said calmly. I wrapped by trembling hands around him and the first thing I noticed was his super-tight abs which felt harder than rock, followed by the tattoo of a two-edged blade at his neck and at the other side of his neck was a tattoo of a written note which I couldn't read properly. As he drove on without saying a word to me, I remembered the novel I had just read and an exciting thought popped up in my head. "Can this be the bad guy who will sweep me off my feet and take me out of my horrible controlled life?"

That way no one would have to sleep in a wet spot. Malachi slowly unzipped my dress, it fell to the floor and I stood in my spanks, undies and a strapless bra. As I removed my spanks, I watched him undress. He removed his clothes quickly while trying to watch me undress. His creamy skin glowed in the dimly lit room. His skin flowed effortlessly over his well toned body. He had a hairless chest yet hair on his sculpted legs. Either he shaves his chest or none grows. He had a tattoo of a koi fish on the left side of his torso and a skull on his back. He also had a few random tribunal tattoos. There was a scar on his shoulder that looked like he had been in a bad accident.

He shifted in the water, turning his broad shoulders away from me so his back was fully exposed. When the fabric finally fell away, my breath hitched. My eyes trailed over his skin, mapping out the dark, intricate ink of the tattoos that spanned his shoulders and spine. But right in the middle of that beautiful, dark canvas, just beneath his shoulder blade, was the angry, puckered crater of the gunshot wound. The skin around it was a violent shade of mottled purple and red, the edges pinched tightly together by thick, dark surgical stitches. It looked raw, disrupting his tattoos like a violent tear in a painting.