Untouchable Ink Tattoo 소설 & 이야기

I slurred, the words spilling out before my brain could even censor them. Without thinking, I reached out my unsteady hand, my fingers hovering just inches from his skin. My eyes tracked the dark, intricate ink that crept up his throat...such heavy, beautiful, dangerous artwork that wrapped around his entire neck and disappeared beneath the crisp collar of his open, unbottoned shirt. I could see the dark lines continuing down onto his broad chest. Even his wrists were covered in with swirling, dark ink that peeked out from beneath his cuff links. Fuck...he was tatted everywhere.

Samson continued, “But because this type of tattoo is inked more deeply than normal tattoos, the process is much more painful. It’s also very difficult to make the ink, so hardly anyone can do this kind of tattoo anymore. “The other thing is it takes a high level of skill to do an invisible tattoo. As far as I know, less than ten tattooists in the world have what it takes.” Blair frowned deeply as he listened to Samson’s explanation. The tattoo on Mable’s back was probably done with a special ink. However, why did she not know about it? “Is there any way to tattoo an invisible tattoo on someone without their knowledge?” “That…” Samson scratched his head. “…is basically impossible.”

I lean down to kiss the budding rose where my mark on her skin begins. “I haven’t seen it. Yours is so big.” She fingers the inky black pattern that encircles my bicep and winds like a vine, down to my wrist. I felt it spreading down my back and over my chest as it formed and was relieved Luca had left so much space when he did my tattoo. “It’s not black.” She looks taken aback as she glances down at herself. “Why is it like that? Did something go wrong?”

Her fingers trembled as she undid the last button, pushing the fabric aside to reveal my skin. "Greedy little virgin," I teased, but I shrugged off my shirt, exposing my tattooed chest—rippling muscles, scars from my rough past, all symbols of the darkness she was embracing. The ink swirled in intricate patterns: a snarling wolf on my pec, vines of thorns wrapping around my abs, each one a story of conquest and pain. Her eyes widened, fingers tracing the ink, sending shivers down my spine as her nails scraped lightly over a scar. "Touch all you want. But remember, this body is your master now. Every ridge, every scar—it's yours to worship, but only because I allow it."

The only thing holding me together is my hands tied to a hook. Then he pulls his finger out, and unties me. My hands fall. His steps slowly drag back to the center of the room, but his eyes stay on me, taking in every bit of me and everything he's done. With one swift finger, he unbuttons his black shirt. My chest flips. He pulls it and it reveals his bare body, my heartbeat stutters, my thighs clench. His body is wickedly built, my feet get loose just staring. Left arm is totally inked, but the tattoo extends to his left chest, covering it completely with a design that looks like a date. What date?

I know I’m not alone in this feeling. Tanks Tattoo Shop Reckless Ink When we get to the tattoo shop Tank is ready for us. He had his tattoo gun in a stand on his work station. Next to it were three pieces of paper turned down so we couldn’t see. There was an array of bottles in different colors. I’m assuming it is the ink he uses. Tank ro hugs Brick and pats him on the back before turning to Speed and me. He does an exaggerated bow that makes me laugh. You can see Lilly has rubbed off on him a bit. “ Ladies it is an honor to personally add you to the family.” Tank says. “ Oh, no. That honor went to Brick last night. He got very personal.” Speed smirks. Tank laughs and shakes his head at her

Sadie Vance’s parties came with infrastructure, and tonight’s included a guest tattoo artist working out of the detached garage the hockey house used for storage and bad decisions. He was set up under a single shop light—the kind that buzzed the way fluorescent lights in institutional buildings always buzzed, constant and accusatory. A black vinyl chair sat in the center of the space, angled under the light. A folding table held his equipment: the rotary machine, ink caps, gloves, stencils, green soap, a biohazard bin, and a stack of flash sheets weighted down with a half-empty bottle of Jameson. The artist was built like a beer keg with a braided gray beard, gauges the size of silver dollar

Always naked now. They found her in the hallway, still sleepy-eyed. Reid stepped forward first, temporary tattoo pen in hand—black ink, fine tip. He knelt, pressed her back against the wall, and lifted one of her thighs over his shoulder. The pen moved in elegant, looping script just above her mound: Ours. The letters were small, precise, curling like calligraphy. When he finished he blew softly across the ink to set it, then pressed a kiss to the center of the word.

he asks and I shakemy head no. This time he does take his shirt off, I guess there's some stripping after all, once his shirt was off, showing off a tanned body with tattoo covering most of his hands and shoulder, but the one that got my full attention is my name in full black ink right on top of his heart.

I needed something more permanent to claim him as mine, something that he would see and remind him of me every single day. Suddenly, a crazy thought came to me as I sat up looking at him. I decided to put a tattoo on him. Not some painful branding with fire, but a sensual marking. Something I could put on his skin myself, slowly and intimate, while keeping him hard and leaking for me. I had a special semi permanent tattoo ink in the drawer which was perfect. It was dark, waterproof, and designed to last for weeks, maybe months if he didn’t scrub it hard and that’s long enough to remind him constantly who he belonged to.