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tattoo
tattooing
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| Zapfenstreich |
tattoo
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taps
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| tätowieren |
tattoo
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“What’s your tattoo?
Cassian rolled his powerful shoulders, his sprawling tattoo shifting with the movement.
When he spotted a familiar birthmark on the too-thin left arm beside it, he eyed the same mark amid the tattoo on her own extended arm, brush in hand.
Like the bargain tattoo on his back had burned him.
Part of the tattoo on his left shoulder slipped out from under the edge of his sleeve.
”He would not, could not, suggest that he cancel his gig tonight and find a tattoo parlor instead.
There, dead in the center of the Illyrian tattoo snaking down his spine, a new tattoo had appeared.
Slowly, her eyes trailed up his body, lingering on his carved pectorals and the Illyrian tattoo that swirled over one of them before flowing down his left arm.
She placed her palm on his chest, directly over his tattoo.
“Oh, gods,” he whispered against her spine, over the tattoo inked along it.
She was not curious about his tattoo.
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