Zayn Tattoos Novels & Stories

I spun on my heel, ignoring Leif, who was also shirt- less, wearing jeans that allowed the deep, chiseled V-line to show. Tattoos and men. Sex and sin. Fucking great. It was everything we didn't need here. I'd been fine without them! My attention slid toward laughter, finding Zayne in his suspenders, with his sleeves rolled to his elbow, smashing his ax through the wood. His bright eyes lifted, meeting mine as a smile played on his full mouth. He turned his head, and my gaze swung to Sian, who was also shirtless and had at least washed the blood off of himself. Eryx had rolled up his sleeves, leaving his olive- colored forearms exposed, showing off his colorful tattoos.

The ink prepared is carbon-based, reacting naturally and smoothly on the body so that the tattooing procedure will be safe and sterile. "You're ready, aren't you?" asks Denis, the same question for every client before beginning the hours—long execution. "I won't waste time if I'm not ready." "Right, you must be very busy." Denis began to apply the triforce stencil paper to the skin on Gaby's back and flattened the stencil. Denis let it sit for a moment before completely removing it and revealing the triforce pattern that had adhered to Gaby's skin. Denis' focus was back on the line now.

We get out of the car and start walking on the sidewalk, "I do like her, but I don't want her to know." "Okay," I roll my eyes. "Are you going to get a tattoo with us, General?" Hunter asks, opening the door to 'Zander's Greatness'. My father shakes his head. "Nah. I'll wait for you guys at that bar,” he points, “While you get your little drawings done." Zander is a bald man covered in ink who has done ten of my tattoos. My favorite ones, the ones that mean the most to me. This time, Hunter and I get the date of our departure tattooed just below the tattoo we got last year, which is the same, just a date. Small and simple.

"By the way, I'm at the main gate waiting for the door to open." Before I could finish talking, the gate opened and I slipped through it. I stood there for a while, watching the huge compound. The Blacks are one of the richest people in New York so it wasn't a surprise to see the kind of house they live in. I knew every corner of the building, I knew Mr. and Mrs. Black's room, I knew Stephanie's room but not Zayn's. He was the only one who I didn't know about his room. Zayn was notorious. At 18 he was already involved in keeping a bad gang around him, he smokes, and he fucked any girl he wants without even thinking about STDs. I mean, what if he contracted a dangerous disease during his rend

Suddenly, the tattoo gun stopped buzzing. Zayn slipped out from under me, and began to remove his dark gloves, his tattooed muscles rippling from that simple task. Confused and a bit disoriented by my own sexual needs, still in my doggy position, I asked, “w-what’s wrong? Why are you stopping?” “Go home,” he said, his voice a bit sharp at the end. I swallowed, switching to a sitting position, “why? Did…did I do something wrong?” He glanced at me, then away. Taking the tattoo gun and trying to clean it and keep it away.

The laughter stopped and the temperature in the dungeon dropped so fast I could see my own breath. Then Zayn’s gaze narrowed into lethal slits. "Afraid of you?" Zayn whispered. He slowly began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a chest covered in battle scars. "It’s a good thing you heal so fast, Ezekiel. It means I can inflict as much pain as I want. I can tear you apart for hours until you beg me for mercy." "No, Zayn, please! Stop this!" I cried out, reaching for his arm.

I protested, clinging on the lingerie a second longer. “Oh...my little bunny, you know I can always have time for you.” He took off his jacket, the masculine cologne hit my nostrils, I inhaled it shamelessly. Because it always made me feel intense, it always drew me closer to him than I expected. He tossed the jacket on the bed, his gentle hands carefully unbuttoned his white shirt. I swallowed hard when my gaze landed on his chest, “You got a tattoo of my name and baby Zayn?” I blinked, I tried rubbing my eyes hoping it was an illusion.

Oh, Zayne was waiting. When I stepped outside, he was leaning against his bike, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. The red shirt he wore almost matched mine. The sleeves were rolled up, showing the tattoos crawling down his arms. The top few buttons were undone, revealing the tip of the arrow tattoo that peeked over his chest. His hair was brushed back, a few strands rebelliously falling forward. Zayne Greyson was undeniably hot. And for a fleeting second, a wild thought crossed my mind — ‘if tonight went well, I might just end up sitting on his dick.’

We had not gotten used to that yet. I quickly put on one of the loose shorts and shirt and breathed in the scent with the waves of chocolate hitting me to euphoria. Yep, this clothes were my mate's. My ears perked up at the scrunching of leaves and I jumped out from the back to see Zayn wearing a loose shorts with no shirt. His black ink spread along his sculptured torso making me look at him in awe. Moon goddess, this man was beautiful.

He stepped back over to me, his frame towering over mine. Standing flush in front of me, he leaned down and pressed the wet bristles against my skin, stroking a series of precise, elegant lines across my collarbone. I closed my eyes, my head rolling back as a delicious shiver raced through my nerves, the cool glide of the paint sending a thrill through my pulse. The moment the brush lifted, I opened my eyes and looked down into the studio mirror. In beautiful, sweeping calligraphy, his name was written clearly across my skin: Zayn.