Hop, Brick, Dog, Boz and Hound, all members of Chaos, and their women had come up. We drank beer. We shot tequila. We ate chips out of the bag (I didn’t even put them in bowls!). We dipped those chips in jars of store bought dip that I also didn’t put in bowls. We laughed. We played music loud. Some of the boys and girls smoked pot though Tack didn’t and they didn’t press it on me. I thought that was cool since I was riding a happy vibe and didn’t want to discover the consequences of saying no to a high biker. And the night ended when most of the couples started making out (yes, even Tack and me) so Tack gave the sign that the party was over (he did this by announcing, “The party’s over”) and the boys loaded the girls up on their bikes.

It was a blast!

Now it was late and Chaos was gone and I was standing outside Tack’s wondering when I became the woman who would serve chips in a bag and then make out relatively hot and heavy with her man with a bunch of bikers and their babes in attendance.

Then I quit wondering because I was tipsy, happy, Chaos was gone and the real party could commence.

When Dog and Sheila disappeared, Tack released my chest but grabbed my hand and tugged me into the house. Then he shut the door and locked it.

This done, he turned me into his arms.

“You drunk?” he asked a question he knew the answer to, grinning his sexy grin down at me.

“Yep,” I answered, rounding him with my arms, leaning into him and allowing his sexy grin to do a number on me.

“How drunk?” he asked, still grinning down at me and I rolled up on my toes, pressing close and holding him tight.

“Smashed.”

“Good,” he muttered, let me go but grabbed my hand again and dragged me to the refrigerator.

There, I watched him open the door and tag a tub of Cool Whip.

“What’s that for?” I asked as he closed the door.

His eyes came to me.

Looking in his eyes, I knew what the Cool Whip was for.

Then I got a top-to-toe tingle that I fancied shimmered straight off my skin.

I grinned.

Tack didn’t grin. He tugged on my arm and dragged me down the hall to his bedroom.

Dinner was chips and dip, beer and tequila and good company.

Dessert was Cool Whip and Tack.

In other words, dessert was the bomb!

* * * * *

I woke naked, draped over Tack, smelling the musk of him I loved, feeling sluggish, mildly hungover and definitely sated.

I didn’t know the time since Tack didn’t have an alarm clock.

“Babe, I get up when I get up. Don’t need a machine tellin’ me what to do.” This was Tack’s explanation of not having an alarm clock and seeing as he was an early riser, it worked for me as when he rose, he saw to it I did too. Therefore, I couldn’t find out the time.

I did know the sun was shining bright but since it was Colorado in August this could mean anything.

I also knew it was Saturday so whatever time it was, it didn’t matter.

I lifted my head and saw my man was sleeping. As in out.

This wasn’t surprising. He drank a lot of beer, shot a lot of tequila and ended the night energetically in a sex marathon that lasted a long, long time where he insisted on doing all the work.

But I was up in a way I knew I was up. Not to mention, I had to go to the bathroom.

So, carefully, so as not to wake him, I slid away and rolled off the bed. Rooting around on the floor which now included a tangle of my clothes, I found a camisole that I’d worn to bed a couple of nights before for approximately ten minutes before Tack took it off. Then I went to my bag in the corner, rooted through that and grabbed a new pair of undies before I picked my way through the clothes on the floor on my way to the bathroom.

I did my business, put on my undies and cami, washed my face, brushed my teeth and flossed. After I was done rinsing my toothbrush and was putting it in the holder with Tack’s, my eyes caught my reflection in the big mirror that spanned the long vanity and I went still.

My belly had never been concave but it had been (mostly) flat. Now it was slightly rounded. My h*ps were never slim but they were now more rounded. My br**sts were clearly fuller and straining the camisole.

I knew it by the way my clothes were fitting but I didn’t really pay any mind to it.

Now I saw it. I was gaining weight.

Three weeks of eating whatever I wanted, that was bound to happen. But I didn’t think of it, not once, until then.

I was deciding no more chips and dip and definitely no more beer when my mind moved over last night. Tack’s mouth on me, his tongue, his hands, the way he rolled me, shifted me, hauled me, tossed me around the bed. His focus solely on me. The looks on his face, the heat in his eyes, the noises he made.

Not to mention the Cool Whip. We went through the whole tub.

My eyes went over my body in the mirror and I thought of Gwen, who was definitely curvy and even Naomi, who was curvier.

Tack liked it like that.

I put my hands flat on my belly and slid them across to my hips, back to my belly, up my midriff to my br**sts.

As I did, I was thinking I liked it like that too.

And I definitely liked Cool Whip.

My eyes caught their reflection in the mirror and I grinned.

Then I wandered back out of the bathroom and stopped at the side of the bed.

Tack had turned to his side, one arm thrown out, his other hand stuffed under the pillow under his head.

My eyes drifted over him.

He had the tattoo of a dragon taking up the whole of his upper right arm, its scaled, taloned feet slithering down the inside of his upper forearm. The tattoo curved around his bicep, over his shoulder and even up his neck. I’d asked why he got it and he’d explained it was because of Naomi. She told him when he got angry, he breathed fire. She was not wrong. Luckily, that tat was cool as all hell so even if it held nuances of his time with Naomi, that didn’t shadow its coolness.

I could also mostly see the tattoo on his bicep on his inner left arm. Swirling and spiking curlicues around the word “Cole”. The curlicues were so intricate, you actually had to study it to find Rush’s name in their midst (I knew this because I’d done it). He told me he got that because his bicep rested close to his heart. The same style curlicues around the mostly hidden word “Tabitha” was on his heart so no explanation necessary about that one.

Jutting up the wrist on his outer left forearm was another design, not in curlicues. It included wings, smoke, fire and parts of a motorcycle around four words randomly inked into the design, “Wind”, “Fire”, “Ride” and “Free”. Those words, he told me, were essentially Chaos’s motto. When a recruit was taken fully into the fold, they got the Chaos emblem emblazoned on their back and they also each had their own tattoo of their own design somewhere on their body that contained those words.