Chest Tattoo Quotes & Sayings

Write down the date, because I'm getting that tattoo five years from now, okay?"
The tears that had been only a gloss over Ryan's eyes now spilled down his temples. "You're doing this on purpose." Ryan laughed and gently punched his arm.
"Just a little bit." Liam rolled Ryan to his back and lapped off the salty wetness. His chest was swelling with joy — K.A. Merikan

He didn't move, didn't blink. He didn't seem like a man who heard no too often. Too bad. But he must have found something he liked, because he slowly undid his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt.

She would not drool.

He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Austin had said Morgan was forty years old, but he didn't look it. Nor did he have the body of a twenty-year-old man. Callie didn't want that anyway. His body had aged beautifully and was clearly well cared for. He had some hair on his chest, but not much. The hair on his belly trailed down to beneath his dress pants and Callie did her best not to swallow her tongue.

She persevered.

Barely. — Carrie Ann Ryan

I watched her index finger trace the barbed wire tattoo that wrapped around my bicep. "Was this to signify anything?"
"Not really." Even a gentle touch from her made my pulse jump. "I got it after I graduated high school. I was so pissed that my parents were gone. Thought I was badass."
She smiled and kissed my chest. "You just made love to me on a Harley. You are totally badass. — Lisa Kessler

Decker grinned, taking the cup and then blowing over it. "What';; you give me for my silence?"

Austin flipped him off. "I won't kick your ass."

"You can try , old man."

"You're getting closer to the big number, too."

Decker grinned. "I'm twenty-nine. You're thirty-eight. Those are two different big numbers, bro. Just saying."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks. I prefer my bedmates with a little less chest hair. — Carrie Ann Ryan

The hairs on the back of her neck tingled and she shivered. She turned toward the door and blinked once. Twice.

The sexiest man she'd ever seen in her life stood in the doorway.

No, stood wasn't a good word, not with the way his presence filled the shop. Dear Lord, was she panting? His broad shoulders were encased in a suit that had t cost more than her rent, but she didn't care about that. His thick chest tapered into a trim waist and strong thighs. Just the thought of those thighs made her clench her own. He had his hands fisted at his sides, and oh God, those hands. Large, thick and they looked so out of place compared to his classy suit. It looked as if he actually used his hands rather than merely sitting behind a desk as his attire suggested, — Carrie Ann Ryan

My body is marked with you. My arms. My chest. My eyes. My head. My heart." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I can't erase you. I'd have to die to be free of you. D-don't you see that, Gris? C-can't you see? There is only you for me. — Katy Regnery

You'd think people had better things to gossip about," said Ginny as she sat on the common room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet. "Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest."
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
What did you tell her?"
I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail," said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. "Much more macho."
Thanks," said Harry, grinning. "And what did you tell her Ron's got?"
A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where. — J.K. Rowling

One day I'll get a tattoo for you."
Warmth explodes in my chest, in awe that he would mark himself for me. "You don't have to."
"I will." His fingers trace my cheek and chills of pleasure run down my spine. "It's what I do. Each tattoo
represents the only happy memories I've had. And you, Rachel, you're the happiest. — Katie McGarry

Often, when I have been feeling lonely, when a book as been thrust aside in boredom [ ... ] I have lain back and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering what life is all about [ ... ] and then, suddenly, there is the echo of the swinging door, and across the carpet, walking with the utmost delicacy and precision, stalks Four or Five or Oscar. He sits down on the floor beside me, regarding my long legs, my old jumper, and my floppy arms, with a purely practical interest. Which part of this large male body will form the most appropriate lap? Usually he settles for the chest. Whereupon he springs up and there is a feeling of cold fur [ ... ] and the tip of an icy nose, thrust against my wrist and a positive tattoo of purrs. And I no longer wonder what life is all about. — Beverley Nichols

The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for his privacy as they all began stripping off with impunity, clearly much more at ease with displaying his body than they would have been with their own. "I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo," said Ron, looking down at his bare chest. "Harry, your eyesight really is awful," said Hermione, as she put on glasses. — J.K. Rowling

After a few seconds of scraping, I realize what he has isn't a trail, it's a whole forest! Ack! Weren't all men supposed to shave their chest and stuff nowadays? Whatever happened to having fuzz-free Hollywood heroes as role models? At least my embarrassment is completely foregone by the irritation at his lack of upkeep. The only thing distracting me now is that heady mix of musk, shaving cream and a distinctly ... male scent. And God knows that is one seriously jeopardizing distraction. Especially with a whizzing needle in one's hand. — Rucy Ban

By the way, Dallas?"
"What, Peabody?"
"That's a lovely tattoo. New?"
Eve clamped her teeth together, strode toward the door with as much dignity as she could manage. "See?" She jabbed a finger into Roarke's chest as they walked down the corridor. "I told you I'd be humiliated by that stupid rosebud."
"You've been drugged, slapped, tied up naked, and nearly killed, but a rose on your butt humiliates you?"
"All that other stuff's the job. The rosebud's personal."
Laughing, he swung his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. "Christ, Lieutenant, I love you. — J.D. Robb

Cole tilted her chin so he could look deeply into her eyes. "Kyle, you are my heaven. Will you come with me?"
"I will." Kyle snuggled deeper into his chest, gently tracing his Sorry tattoo.
Cole's heart beat like the pounding of an angel's wings. — Debra Anastasia

I'm lying on Cash's chest, tracing his tattoo.
"What does this mean?" I whisper.
"It's the Chinese symbol for awesome," he teases lightly.
I giggle. "If it's not, which I imagine it isn't, then it should be."
"Are you paying me a compliment? I just want to be sure, so I don't miss it."
I slap his ribs. "You make it sound like I'm mean and horrible because I don't throw myself at your feet."
"You don't have to throw yourself at my feet. Although if you want to, I'm sure I can think of something for you to do while you're down there."
I look up at him and he's waggling his eyebrows again.
"I'm sure you could." Shaking my head, I settle back onto his chest and resume tracing the ink shapes. "Seriously, what do they mean?"
Cash is quiet for so long I begin to think he's not going to answer me. But then he finally speaks.
"It's a collage of things that remind me of my family. — M. Leighton

I needed to stop staring at his bicep ... and chest ... and tattoo. Never thought the sun could be so ... sexy. Wow. This was awkward. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The bed was swathed in black cotton; turning her head, Danika saw that she was draped by a half-clothed man. He possessed skin of chocolate and honey, taut muscle and ripped sinew. No hair marred his chest, but there was a menacing butterfly tattoo that stretched from one shoulder to the other and up his neck. Menacing butterfly - two words that could be used together to describe only one man. Reyes. "Oh, — Gena Showalter

The newcomer stood well over six feet, as tall as any Warden. His hair was dark, the color of obsidian, and it reflected blue in the dim light. Lazy locks slipped over his forehead and curled just below his ears. Brows arched over golden eyes and his cheekbones were broad and high. He was attractive. Very attractive. Mind-bendingly beautiful, actually, but the sardonic twist to his full lips chilled his beauty. The black T-shirt stretched across his chest and flat stomach. A huge tattoo of a snake curled around his forearm, the tail disappearing under his sleeve and the diamond-shaped head rested on the top of his hand. He looked my age. Total crush material - if it wasn't for the fact that he had no soul. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

...She froze in the doorway of her kitchen.
And nearly swallowed her tongue.
Ivan leaned against the counter, wearing nothing but dark jogging pants and holding a cup of coffee. His blond hair was spiked adorably, as if he hadn't combed it yet. the sculpted muscles of his chest and shoulders stood out as he raised the cup to his mouth, a bright tattoo of intricate artwork wrapping around one shoulder and over one pec.
What she'd imagined he might look like was nothing compared to the reality of the Viking god in her kitchen. Her gaze trained on that ridiculously muscular chest and it was like she'd lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Or, you know, think. — Katie Reus

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo. — Markus Zusak

If you guys want to get a MOM tattoo and save a little money, just get two letters done. Get about a one-inch capital M tattooed on each cheek of your ass in pink and brown ink. Then when you bend over, it says "Mom." Also, later on if you're havin' sex with your girlfriend, and her parents are in the next room, when you finish up you can just lie on your back, draw your legs up to your chest and silently say, 'Wow! — George Carlin

He ran his hand over his chest and stopped above his heart where a black tattoo of an ornate skeleton key was inked on his skin.She had its other half-a lock in the shape of a heart with a keyhole in the center-tattooed on her lower stomach beside her right hip bone. Laying on top of her, he'd slide down to kiss her breasts and their two tattoos would come together. Lock and key. — Kelli Maine

Next to hot chicken soup, a tattoo of an anchor on your chest, and penicillin, I consider a honeymoon one of the most overrated events in the world. — Erma Bombeck

You're my lifeline, he whispers and kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his. With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart- in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens, his heart is beating a frantic pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; his jaw tense, his teeth clenched.
I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He's letting me touch him. And it's like all the air in my lungs has vaporized- gone. — E.L. James

If you were perfect, I'd tattoo this on my chest. If you were beautiful, I'd carve this into a tree trunk. If you were nice, I'd write this in a letter. But you're none of those - — Bo Burnham

From all we have said about plotting in general it should be evident that even in those modern plots in which events happen by laws not immediately visible, as when, for instance, the tattooed man in the circus reveals in the course of a whimsical conversation that he has on his chest a tattoo of the little girl now looking at him, a child he has never before seen, or as when, in Isak Dinesen, a decorous old nun turns abruptly into a monkey
there must be some rational or poetically persuasive basis. — John Gardner

I have a tattoo of Joy Division on my chest, and I like One Direction. — Jamie Blackley