Inked Skin Quotes & Sayings

Babe, I'm inked into your skin, and you're pregnant with my baby. Your time to run away is long gone. — Elle Aycart

I kiss him like the fairytale prince that every girl wants. His horse might be black instead of white and he isn't blonde haired and blue eyed, but damn, he has butterflies inked into his skin and birds on his back, an eyebrow and a lip ring and words of wisdom peppered with the foulest fucking language known to man. I would take Ty McCabe over a knight in shining armor any day. — C.M. Stunich

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

And maybe it was because she'd been raised around a bunch of rowdy bikers, but she always got a little weak in the knees when confronted with badass tattoos inked into tough, tan skin.
Put it all together, add a pinch of I-haven't-been-laid-in-way-too-long, and what did you come up with? A big ol'dollop of yeehaw, cowgirl! with a side of 'wanna take-a-ride'? — Julie Ann Walker

If all of our sins, bad habits, and poor choices were permanently inked into our skin like tattoos, we would all dress quite modestly. — Richelle E. Goodrich

A good tattoo always has a story that runs deeper than the skin, and Inked tells that story. — Tara Dakides

Bleak as the scene was, though, there was growing joy in Inman's heart. He was nearing home; he could feel it in the touch of thin air on skin, in his longing to see the lead of hearth smoke from the houses of people he had known all his life. People he would not be called upon to hate or fear. He rose and took a wide stance on the rock and stood and pinched down his eyes to sharpen the view across the vast propect to one far mountain. It stood apart from the sky only as the stroke of a poorly inked pen, a line thin and quick and gestural. But the shape slowly grew plain and unmistakable. It was to Cold Mountain he looked. He had achieved a vista of what for him was homeland. — Charles Frazier