روايات وقصص ضمن Dantes Inferno Tattoo

A subtle gesture of “taming.” I ate anyway. My body needed it. Then I lay on the bed—clean now, wearing the robe—and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Only the void. That’s when I heard the door open again. Dante entered. This time without the jacket. Just a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Black tattoos winding across tanned skin. A leather bracelet on his wrist. A man made of shadows and control. — Feeling better? — he asked, like it was a normal question.

I’m hardly able to think. "The black one is Gabriel’s wolf, the gray one is Dante, and the third one represents the pack." she looks up at me when I finally squeeze out an answer. She nods and looks at my chest again. I do too, and my dick grows harder as I see her nipples like stiff peaks pressing through her bra and top. I reach up to touch it, but her fingers trace my stomach under my left chest before I can. She starts reading the names that are tattooed on it.

Dante took Natalie to the bathroom and helped clean her up. She just stood there and let him do it. Natalie watched as Dante focused on bathing her. His naked upper body caught her attention. She noticed several scars on Dante’s chest and stomach. She slowly touched them. “Is your life so dangerous?” she asked softly. “Enough to keep me on my toes,” Dante replied indifferently. He bent down to rub Natalie’s leg with bath gel. His treatment was so gentle that Natalie felt comfortable. She held on to his shoulder and looked at the tattoo on his left shoulder. It was a small tattoo of a vine wrapped around a winged sword. Looking at it made her feel like she was being pulled into a fantasy worl

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

“I just want to taste you. I won’t go further─not yet.” I don’t argue. Hell, I can barely think when he kisses his way down my neck and sucks hard on the tendon above my shoulder. Gasping with pleasure, I lift his shirt and nip his earlobe. “Take it off,” I murmur. Without a word, Lucifer pulls away and removes his shirt, revealing his broad chest, carved pectorals and contoured abs. Reaching up, I glide my hands up his velvety skin and explore his muscles. Goosebumps spread across his skin, and his eyes heat with desire. My heart stutters at the sight of his sinewy muscles moving beneath his flawless skin as he leans close. Watching intently, I let my eyes drop hungrily across his Adonis li

I carry my face from his chest slowly and carefully, not to wake him up I roll over and lie on my side. I admire his sinful beauty, if I can just touch it once more. That's right I can touch it, after all he's sleeping. I flatten my palm on his chest and feel each rhythmic movement his chest makes when he breathes. I outline his body with my hands, over the six divisions on his belly to the tattoo on his chest. I remember when he got that, I came back tired from the classes I had and he came into my house grinning like he just won a lottery. He made me close my eyes, trust me I still cheated, opening my eyes slightly to try to take peaks of whatever surprise he was bringing up. When I opened

dangerous. Denzel was waiting on the porch when we pulled up, leaning against a post with a beer in one hand and that easy, slow smile that had haunted me for years. He wore faded jeans that hugged his powerful thighs, a simple black t-shirt stretched across his chest, and scuffed boots. His arms were crossed, biceps flexing as he straightened up. "Kenzie. Good to see you, kiddo." His voice was low, gravelly, like smoke over whiskey. He pulled me into a quick, one-armed hug, and I caught the scent of him... leather, pine, and masculinity. My nipples tightened against my thin tank top before I could stop it.

His eyes were open, frozen in an expression of surprise, his mouth slightly ajar as if he had been caught mid-breath. I exhaled slowly, kneeling beside him. I had lost men before. I had seen death in every imaginable form. But this? This was a message. A message written in blood. Matteo stood beside me, his stance tense. "Bastardi left their mark," he muttered, pointing to the crude symbol carved into Dante’s forearm. I already knew what it was before I even looked. Picasso. Rage coiled in my gut, tightening like a noose. The Picassos.

He groans and begins to take off his top. Fuck. I hiss as I see his torso on display. His pecs are huge and well defined from working out in the gym like he does. His shoulders are broad and I spot a new tattoo on his right shoulder. I know all of Dante’s tatts from seeing him at family barbecues and in the summer swimming in the outdoor pool at Isaac’s. “What is that, it has writing on it?” From where I am lying I can’t make out the writing, it looks to be in italic.