Wes Watson Tattoos Novels & Stories

Relief settles for a heartbeat—my pack is safe. “Rhett,” Laura sighs. “Tell me already, what the hell is going on with you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” I glare at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.” I turn and head for my apartment. Inside, I strip off my clothes. I’ve been holding back from checking the stabbing pain in my chest. I turn to the mirror— And freeze. A tattoo runs across my back, down into my chest. A river of blue light twists into a crescent moon. Inside the glow, faint outlines of wolves howl and run, their forms made of mist and stars. The whole thing pulses like a living vein under my skin.

A knock on the huge wooden door startled me, and I replied, "Come in." Mr. Weston pushed the door slightly and peeked into the room. He wore a white robe, his masculine chest revealing, and my eyes widened in shock when I saw the wolf head tattoo on his chest too. "What? You have this similar tattoo too. Is this a werewolf trademark or sign?" I asked, shocked as I stepped back, watching him entered the room.

A massive tattoo stretched across his back, dark, swirling lines that formed a wolf’s head surrounded by a crescent moon. Kieran stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with the precision of a surgeon. His long red hair fell over his shoulders in loose waves, and his tattoo was just as beautiful as Kai’s: a roaring dragon with flames curling down his spine, its tail disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. Kylan, of course, was leaning against the fridge with a smirk that could melt steel. His tattoo was a constellation of stars and a running wolf, the design wrapping around his ribs and down his left side.

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

His hair was wet, and he had nothing but boxers on. I had a vivid view of his tattoos. Adorning his back was a fierce-looking wolf, jaws agape and poised to seize its prey. On his chest, a heart ensnared in thorny vines bled profusely, the tendrils winding their way to a blossoming rose, seemingly coloured by the lifeblood drawn from the heart. Positioned on the left side of his chest was a strikingly fierce yet captivating eagle. Additional intricate designs adorned his arms, crafted with bold strokes of black ink. The well-defined muscles accentuated the synergy between his movements and the artistic lines. I found myself pondering about the talented artist behind these captivating creatio

Oh, did I mention he was only wearing his boxers? His upper torso was on full display as he turned over strips of bacon and eggs. He had a howling wolf head tattooed on his chest, right over his heart with the text “Wolf Riders” written under it. His entire right arm was covered in an intricate pattern of tribal black tattoos as well as part of his chest and shoulder. There was a weeping angel stretched between his shoulder blades and across his neck was his name. All of which moved with him like a living art piece, making me even more aware of every rippling muscle and hard plate this god-like man had. His toned stomach and wide chest. I was a bit surprised when I saw he didn’t have a six-p

I repeated to myself, trying to regain my sanity. "Why are you staring at me?" Norman asked curtly. "Nothing... cool tattoo," I referred to the black wolf symbol he had on his arm. "It's in honor of my father," Norman replied before entering the river waters. I was trying to control my excitement, but he became even sexier with wet hair. He had tan skin, a tattoo of a black wolf on his right arm. I could see the veins popping in his neck, water running through his completely wet hair, down to his defined abdomen, sliding towards his... I shouldn't notice so many details about this man.

Whitney attempted to utter. “I don’t need your silly explanation, slut. Just stay away from her next time.” Asher seethed out, giving the three of them a death glare. He then took two bold steps towards them. It was as if he was giving them a challenge. It was then I noticed the tattoo at the back of his arms. That made him look more bad boyish. Oh, how I so loved tattoos. Whitney took one glance at me. Before I could say Robinson Crusoe, her and her minions sprinted off.

Why the wind decided to seek me out now was just a poetic justice. Taking off his shirt I finally saw those muscles in full. For the last day I had seen hints of them. His arms were the most striking to me at the time but those abs. They crawled up his stomach with two black tattoos on each of his pecks. Paw prints? “What are those about?” I pointed to my own chest then to him. Looking down he twitched slightly before shrugging, “Just something my brothers and I do when we start training. Conrad chose lines, Alfred chose stars. It’s like a a symbol that we have completed training.”

I can recognize his ring form here. His eyes was still on me when I blinked out of my daze of shamelessly checking him out. I’ve never wish the club manager gave me a waitress job instead of pouring drink here all night as much as I do now. I could have walked up to him for his number or something. A waiter came to get an order and when I was done there was no sight of the tattooed man and the guy he was sitting with. With him gone, I tried to ignore the erotic scenes in my head to no avail.