Small Religious Tattoos For Men Novels & Stories

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

he repeats, like the word tastes wrong. “They’re symbols,” I say. “Rank. Loyalty. Ownership.” “And you?” he asks quietly. I hesitate, then lift my hand and touch the scar that curves from my shoulder toward my neck — the one that never quite fades, no matter how much time passes. “I asked for one,” I say. His eyes snap to mine. “A tattoo,” I continue. “Just like my brothers. Something small. Something I could hide.” My fingers trace the edge of the scar. “My father said tattoos made women look undisciplined. Improper. He said they gave the wrong impression.”

Proud to be. I smirk slightly, looking down at his cock again, it makes my wrist look fucking small. My eyes blaze as I peel his boxers off and the sight in front of me makes me lick my lips. He’s perfectly groomed, the tip of his cock a smooth rounded tip and it’s shining with a few drops of precum. He has a tattoo just over his pubic bone, to the right side, a simple word but it looks so fucking hot. ‘Loyalty.’

Meanwhile, a man who has black wing tattoos on both chests observes his spouse with a gaze that is difficult to decipher. "I am not a holy man. Yeah, I believe most of us are not the saint. At least, I am not a fake person. But that is not all I want to tell you." Massimo seemed to pause deliberately in his own words, which aroused suspicion in his wife. Abby remained silent because she gave the man, who had a baritone voice, a chance to say whatever was on his mind.

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.

Shorter than his brother’s. He also has tattoos. Prominent and black. There’s a bold text I can’t read across his throat. There are symbols and gothic-style lettering around the rest of his neck, and small tatts trailing down his forearms and knuckles. I bet his chest is tatted, too.

Behind the screen, Mark sat casually, placing his crossed legs on the desk. He had a perfect face with an air of impetuosity. He was in a black shirt and long pants, with his shirt unbuttoned three buttons down, showing off his chest and some of his tattoos. The tattoo of a fallen angel against his fair skin made him seem even more dangerous. The rosary in his hands was a huge juxtaposition to his tattoos, yet it didn't seem out of place.

Funny how I get nervous again, wanting to back out when I was so courageous earlier until I saw them. Some of his men went outside, and some were still there. They all have tattoos on their arms and probably up to their body. Well, tattoos are all over the world now. Even minors have! “A million and a hundred dollars.” His eyebrow shut up. A loud burst of laughter suddenly echoed inside the room.

"I'll be enjoying every moment of it." My cheeks are steaming red and glancing over at Galina, she is also blushing with her gaze downcast. She proffers me her hand and I wordlessly take it as I'm burning with fury inside over the dastard. My eyes catch sight of the tattoo on his muscled upper arm. The black ink of the Christian Cross encircled by a fierce Dragon, made a dramatic striking contrast against his fair skin. Some girls would think it was bad of a guy, however, to me it was bad news about a guy.

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.