Rosary Hand Tattoo Men Novels & Stories

’ And, nothing has ever felt so good than having people there for you. "Do you notice anything about his appearance?" Gia asks, interested. "Well," I try to rack my brain, conjuring up the memory of his face, his face was covered with a cloak, so it was harder, but then I remember, "A tattoo, he had a tattoo of a raven bird on his wrist." "Wow. That's sick." Gia rolls her eyes. “So, where were we?” Chiara smiles, taking a muffin from the plate. Clearly, she doesn't want to talk about the man, it's making us all uncomfortable so I don't blame her.

I tell her, “ My husband and I are greatly appreciative. I was just wondering about the tattoos on these men. Do you have any idea what they mean?” “I was wondering that too,” Robin answers, “I was trying not to be obvious about staring at them. It looked to me like a half moon in a circle, with a line drawn through it. I’m so sorry, but I have no idea what it means.” As she says this, there is a gasp from somewhere in the crowd. Levi and I look at each other, and he shrugs. A male shifter with shoulder length auburn hair, who appears to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, raises his hand, and Levi beckons him forward.

Then he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. I’ve seen him shirtless a thousand times. Memorized every line of muscle, every scar from a childhood he rarely talks about. But I’ve never seen this. Over his left ribcage, directly above his heart, is a tattoo. Fresh, still slightly red at the edges, covered in a thin layer of protective film. A single white rose, rendered in exquisite detail. Petals unfurling, delicate and luminous against his skin. Thorns subtle but present, wrapping the stem in elegant black ink. Beneath it, in small, precise script:

“is just for fun.” Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?” “You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped. One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table. “You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve. The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger. The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.

His outfit was completed with sneakers that matched the colour of his jeans. I could see the ink that covered his right arm. It was from his wrist leading up to the length of his arm and disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. I could make out some of the images. I saw a rose with a name scribbled on the stem, Jesus Christ with his hands clasped, and some teardrops flowing from his eyes. I never thought about tattoos being sexy, but looking at his, I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

His voice held unto the mystery and Melody of the world. I couldn't ask the moon goddess for more after providing such a mystical, glorious man for me as my mate. I step backward and bent down to attend to his wound but he held out his hand. That was when I saw his long Milky fingers. It also has tattoos. I frown in confusion. why would anyone be gifted the beautiful image of flowers on the hand and cheek? " I would dress your wound to stop the blee..ding " I stammer but he shook his head.

He looked at me briefly then back at my hand that was holding onto his. The biggest and clearer of the tattoos was on the back of his palm. It was drawn with dark ink that stood out on his well tanned dark hands. At first it looked like a sun rising in the horizon and glazing over a field with details of how it shines around it in tiny well drawn marks, I soon realized it was the sea the sun was rising on and not heaps in a field. "Solem Orientem Ghe Mari" I called out the foreign words written right under the tattoo of the sun and the sea. It sounded Latin or was it Italian?

He called me naughty, but he didn't say no. The post showed two hands intertwined. On the man's inner wrist was a circlet of sacred laurel leaves—the soul-bond mark the High Priest himself had inked on us at our engagement. But in this photo, hidden in the veins of a single leaf, were three tiny, exquisitely tattooed letters: S.E.R. I scrolled back to the very first post, from a year ago: “Just ran into the Alpha and his woman. He's so gentle and strong. I want a man like that… so I'm going to make him mine.”

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

On the left side of his back, I saw a compass tattoo. But what piqued my curiosity the most was a lone tattoo at the left bottom of his back. There were two hands. One was big and bulky, indicating that it was of man's. The other was slim and slightly smaller in size, indicating that it was of a woman's. Both hands were at a little distance away from each other and were connected through the chains. They were facing away from each other as if trying to oppose the chains. Beneath the tattoo, I noticed some lettering.