Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(117)

Last night in bed, I’d given Tack what I’d bought. A long dogtag chain with two stamped dogtags at the end. One was stamped with an American Flag. The other one was stamped with the words “Ride free”. We’d just happened onto it and it couldn’t be denied it was made for my man. So I bought it.

Some of the brothers wore jewelry, some of them lots including rings, necklaces and bracelets. They were all exclusively silver or leather or studs. But Tack didn’t wear any at all. He didn’t even use one of those wallets with the long chains on them that attached to his belt like the other boys did. So I didn’t know how he’d take this.

I still thought it was made for him.

So I gave it to him while we sat in bed. Tack with his back to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him under the covers that were pulled up to his hips. Me sitting nervously on the other side of the bed from him.

Tack had the chain dangling over his hand, the tags in his palm, he was looking down at it, his thumb moving it around, face expressionless and he asked, “You had these made for me?”

“No, I just happened onto them and thought of you.”

“Thought of me,” he muttered to his palm.

“You don’t have to wear them,” I offered, slightly disappointed but not surprised by his reaction. “You can hang them from the rearview mirror of your truck or something.”

His eyes lifted to me but they gave nothing away.

What gave it away was when his hands lifted, he opened the chain and dropped it over his head to settle the chain around his neck.

“You don’t have to wear them, honey,” I repeated softly though I kind of wished he would since they looked freaking great on him.

“We’re in bed,” was his strange reply.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Don’t like bringin’ her here.”

Uh-oh.

I braced and asked, “Who?”

“Naomi.”

Oh boy.

“Kane –”

“She never gave me anything.”

I blinked.

Then I whispered, “She never gave you anything?”

“Birthdays, yeah. Christmases, yeah. For the f**k of it, ‘cause she was out somewhere and thinkin’ of me,” he held my eyes, his getting heated then he finished with his voice a low rumble, “no.”

“Handsome,” I breathed.

“You gave me this,” he wrapped a fist around the dogtags and gave them a yank, “so I should express my gratitude but I’m in a certain mood which means you’re also now gonna give me head.”

My ni**les started tingling.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, after, or maybe during, I’ll return the favor,” he went on and someplace else started tingling too. When I didn’t move he asked, “You gonna sit on your ass starin’ at me or wrap your mouth around my cock?”

“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

“I’m never taking them off,” he declared.

Wow.

“Never?” I whispered.

“Not ever,” he returned.

God, I loved him.

“Babe, want your mouth,” he prompted and I didn’t move. “About now,” he growled.

His intensity wasn’t about getting head.

It was about the dogtags.

Yeah, my man liked them.

I grinned. Then I crawled to him and gave him my mouth but I started doing it by kissing his.

Though it ended up somewhere else.

Then that led to something else and that something else was what made Tack able to get away with ordering me around at work.

I went through the door to the garage and searched the huge space with my eyes as I walked down the stairs. I spied Tack standing beside the cherry red car.

My eyes ran over it. It was gleaming. It was old but in a way where it got more badass and awesome as time went by. The color was righteous. The shape sleek and kickass.

Bottom line, it was cool as all hell.

Tack watched me walk to him and after I rounded the hood to get to the side he was on, his arm moved and he underarm threw a set of keys to me. My hand shot up automatically to catch them and I stopped moving.

“Mustang,” he stated loudly to be heard over the noise in the garage. “1967 Eleanor Fastback,” he continued like that meant something to me which it didn’t until I stood standing beside what I was guessing was one.

“It’s cool, Kane,” I told him the truth and also did it loudly.

“It’s yours, Red.”

I blinked, blood seemed to rush quickly through my entire system but mostly through my head and my legs started shaking.

“What?” I breathed.

He read my lips and I knew he did because he responded.

“Your car is solid, decent, you got a lot more miles before it’ll start givin’ you headaches,” he declared. “But it isn’t you.”

“Me?”

“Wild and sweet, can both snarl like a bitch or purr like a kitten.”

My hand flew out, I leaned down and pressed my fingertips into the hood of the kickass Mustang my man just gave to me and I did this to hold myself up.

“You can’t give me a car,” I informed him.

“No? Weird. Just did.”

I stared at him then asked, “Is this because of the dogtags?”