Wrist Band Tattoo For Men の小説・ストーリー

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” “Then let me out. I’ll just sneak out the back door—you can tell everyone we got in a fight, and I won’t have to look your grandmother in the eye again and pretend to be in love with you.” He narrows his eyes on me, his biceps tightening. Is that a tattoo on his wrist? I want to take a step closer to see if I’m imagining it because I’ve always been a sucker for a man with tattoos. He didn’t strike me as someone who’d have them, but I swear there’s something peeking out from underneath his fancy watch.

The one that curved across his left wrist looked almost like a blade. “You know,” I said, wiping my mouth, “you should really stop doing nice things.” “Why?” His voice was smooth. “Because it makes you want to jump me?” “No.” I rolled my eyes as I stood slowly and crossed the space between us. “Because it confuses people.” Even though I very much wanted to jump him. I reached for his arm, fingers grazing the tattoo near his elbow. A coil of serpents, so detailed I could almost feel their scales. His muscles twitched beneath my touch, but he didn’t pull away.

I let myself look. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, muscles shifting under tattooed skin. A pair of wings stretched across his back, framing a figure with the word BLESSED inked above. One arm held a wolf, the other a scatter of symbols and words. Near his ribs, a line of foreign script caught my eye. I wanted to touch it—feel the heat of him, trace every line. My breath hitched as he raised a hand to his hair, his triceps flexing, every movement effortless, powerful. I shouldn’t have been staring. I knew that. But how could I not? He was raw masculinity.

It's like he's my human teddy bear, he keeps my nightmare away. I started rubbing my forefinger over his tons of tattoos on his left arm. It feels like the skin on his tattoo felt a bit bulging but I love he feeling of it against my skin. I glued my eyes on his mermaid tattoo and it's funny how he has a mermaid tattoo on him when he's a man. But for some reason it even makes him more manly even though it's a female-ish tattoo. I run my forefinger down to his long fingers and held his hand as I stare at his fingernails. His hand was really huge. It could even cover my entire palm. I tried to entwine my fingers in between the spaces of his fingers and held his hand tight.

"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.

Then he looked at the fourth one and just waited. The fourth one stepped back. Smart. The referee rang the bell. The crowd went loud. The man stood in the middle of it all, chest rising and falling, sweat gleaming under the lights, and looked completely unbothered. Like he had just taken a short walk. Then I saw his forearm. The tattoo. Dark ink, detailed, curling up from his wrist toward his elbow. A dragon, scales and lines I could actually make out now in the better light. My breath left my body.

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.”

One glance at Draven told me he was as tense as I felt, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. "Pause it there." he said, his voice low but commanding. Alex, sitting at the computer, froze the footage, “What is it?" Draven leaned closer, his dark eyes narrowing as he pointed to the screen. "That guy’s hand. Look." I followed his gaze. At first, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but then I spotted it—a tattoo curling around the man’s wrist like a serpent. It was intricate, almost ritualistic in design.

If I wouldn’t have listened to him, he would have tightened his arm more and I would have ended up with shattered bones. His warmth was heartwarming and it gave me the courage to run my finger along his muscled tattooed arm and I made small circles along the lines of his tattoo. He had this artistic tattoo of a warrior on his forearm, wearing armor and he was looking up at the constellation and that moon that was inked in Romeo’s biceps skin. And I wondered what that tattoo was about.

A quiet, unshakable feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. ** I zoomed the photo on Daniel's phone until the pixels blurred and the man's face sharpened into something I could almost make out. Damien's profile was clear enough his posture, the box but the other man's jawline and the crease at the corner of his mouth were only half visible. "Who is he?" I asked again. Daniel pinched the image and dragged it down, revealing the man's wrist. "Look here. See that?" I leaned in. There, just above the cuff, a faded tattoo curled around the man's wrist a small, crude wheel with three spokes. It looked stupid and simple, the kind of mark you'd miss unless you knew to look.