Untouchable Ink Tattoo Novels & Stories

"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.

I shake my head with a slight laugh. “Baby girl, that sounds horrific. Your body is perfect to me. Somehow my hands permanently etched into your skin doesn’t scream sexy to me.” “Definitely not. You know there are people who come in to get work like that done. One guy came in and asked for his dick to be inked. He wanted the slogan ‘Melts in your mouth’ wrapped around it like a Christmas tree garland.” “Ouch.” Laughter erupts between us, and I know there’s no way in hell I’m letting another man or woman touch my cock to tattoo it. “I wonder how painful it is.”

But Nolan didn’t stop them either, and that unsettled her more than if he had. The makeshift tattoo setup was in a side room off the bar, half storage, half workbench. Bottles of ink lined the shelf, a gun sat coiled with wires, and the smell of rubbing alcohol clung to the air. Clearly, the Vipers had used it before. Ashley pulled on gloves from the kit, her hands trembling only a little. Ace shrugged off his shirt and sprawled in the chair, all muscle and ink and lazy arrogance. “Try not to get distracted,” he drawled, winking.

“No. I just… wish I could touch them. No. She can’t. The tattoos—they look good. That’s the point. Years of careful planning, hours under the needle, making sure they were beautifully arranged, each one flowing into the next. I spent a fortune making them look like art. But they’re not just ink. They’re cover-ups. Because if she touches them—really touches them—she’ll feel what’s underneath. The scars. The ones that don’t sit flush with the skin. The ones the artists had to work around, blend into shadows, hide beneath shading and lines. And I can’t have that. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because those scars… they come with stories. Stories I’ll never tell. “Get on your feet,” I say. “I want to

Harry answers while turning his motorbike back to where we passed by. He finally parked his motorbike right outside the tattoo parlour shop called INKED and I have never been sure in my entire life for getting a tattoo. Before, I never really wanted to have one because I don’t like the thought of having tattoos on me and I am a little bit scared of needles. But now, I am so sure to get a tattoo and it’s the only way to help us remember of each other, by getting inked of something that can easily make me remember him.

Elder Theodore hissed as I broke his thumb and moved on to his other hand. "Yep, I’ll pay." I responded. "I’ll always pay no matter what, so I do what the fuck I want." "Luna," Hans murmured, coming up beside me. "Maybe we should try the serum." "No," I giggled, unable to ignore the bloodlust that was building in me. "That’s just too easy and I want to see this bastard break naturally." "But we don’t have time." Hans continued. Didn’t have time? What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“It’s Ok. You can touch it. It won’t bite.” I realized then that he was talking about his tattoo. Seemingly unable to control my own hand, I reached up to his shoulder, where the tattoo began. I traced my finger over his collarbone, and then down his chest. He was a moving work of art. Touching him was like touching a statue. I let my finger wander lower while looking up at his face. He gave me a reassuring smile and a nod. My hand moved lower, tracing the outline of the dragon tattoo. I felt his chest rising and falling beneath my touch. Lower still, touching his abs, my finger moving along the lines of his six-pack. As my hand moved lower, my eyes followed, and I noticed the bulge in his s

utos niya, kalmado at matatag ang boses. Tumango ang tattoo artist, iniutos kay Xandro na hubarin ang kanyang damit. Hinubad ni Xandro ang itim na T-shirt, ibinunyag ang matipuno niyang pangangatawan. Nang sumindi ang makina, bumaon ang karayom sa kanyang balat, gumuguhit ng unang linya ng tinta sa kanyang likod. Ni hindi siya kumurap, hindi natitinag ang konsentrasyon.

hurt someone in the game,They would disqualify us, ”the grandfather thought for a moment,“ look young people if there is a seal but, I don't think you will stand it, ”luck did not like that and rather asked,“ what kind of seal, ”John's grandfather replied, "It is more like a tattoo, but in itself you will always have it, but it is activated with the wearer's blood, they are interested, this seal represses 40% and is durable," luck thinks about it and tells him, "the tattoo is ugly," the grandfather laughs, "it is seriously that worries you, worse it is not an ethogram with a circle that says retention in Latin and in each beak a wing," luck tells him, "then it is fine, but in case it no lon

“Alright, my love. Anything for you.” It was too easy, the way he said it. And though part of me wanted to believe him, another part knew Grant’s version of “handling things” often came with blood and fire. But for now, I chose peace. I chose the illusion. “Alright, you’re set,” the tattooist said finally, pulling her gloves off. She handed me a mirror, and I craned awkwardly to see. Daddy’s was inked in delicate red script right where only he would see it. It was beautiful. Dangerous. Ours.