Fateless (Stateless Book 3)

by Meli Raine

Tap tap tap.

  “What the hell?” I burst out, Kina jumping up, grabbing her shirt and frantically throwing it on.

  “Kina? Callum? I’m sorry,” Sela says through the door. “Jay woke up from a nightmare and–”

  Kina falls over in a thud as she tries to put her pants on.

  I look down at my slowly deflating erection. For once, I wish it would hurry up and go away.

  So close. We were so damn close.

  “Just a minute!” Kina calls out, giving me a half-amused, half-horrified look.

  I stretch out on my back on the couch, propping my feet up on the armrest, crossing my ankles and resting my head on my arms crossed under my head.

  She stops.

  She looks at my naked body, displayed in full for her.

  And she blushes.

  But she doesn’t look away.

  “What are you doing?” we ask each other simultaneously.

  Giggles, high and silly, come out of her. “You’re naked!”

  “So were you a moment ago.”

  “Sela’s right there!” she hisses.

  “So?”

  “I have to go help Jay!”

  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Kina?” Sela calls out. “Jay threw up everywhere and I can’t find the–”

  Kina grimaces. “I don’t think I’m coming back for a long while, and probably not in the mood after this.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll take a cold shower.” I don’t mention how many of those I’ve been taking lately.

  “I–” She bends down to kiss me, then rushes to the door. Waving her palm down, she urges me to get out of sight.

  Grudgingly, I do.

  She slips out the door, chattering with Sela in low voices, and I realize this is it.

  This is our new life.

  And neither of us elevated just now.

  Chapter 26

  Kina

  “Keen!” Jay points to the orange plastic cup he's carefully placed on the upper rack of the dishwasher. “I do it!”

  “You did it! Hooray, Jay!” I clap for him.

  Candace arches one eyebrow, looking older than her years. “We get applause for doing our job?”

  “When you're two and learning how to load a dishwasher, yes.”

  “Why don't you applaud when I take out the garbage?” Callum asks as he walks by, doing just that.

  Candace and I start clapping for him, snarky smiles on our faces. Jay joins in.

  “Yay Cam!” he shouts, his joy genuine.

  Our sarcasm is, too.

  Laughter fills the room as a very perplexed Ashton comes in, his walk steadier as he grows. He's a few months younger than Jay but has more developed language.

  “Whya clapping?” he asks me.

  “Because Callum took out the trash!”

  The door closes behind him as Callum does his job.

  “YAY CALLUM!” Ashton screams after him.

  Candace scoops him up, giggling. “Time for you and Jay to have a bath.”

  “No baf!” Jay shouts, running away.

  “No hair washing!” Ashton says, trying to get out of her arms. She puts him in a firm football hold and goes after Jay.

  We're up to eight children now: the twin fifteen-year-olds; eleven-year-old Tim; thirteen-year-old Candace; the two-year-olds, Ashton and Jay; five-year-old Hayley; and Sarina, who is four. The children have not come in age order, as planned, but that’s okay. I’ve been assured that by the time we're done, we'll have everyone here, living with us, all of it formally approved.

  For now, we can hire tutors to give the children an education closer to that of mass society than Stateless training. Learning how to garrote someone in hand-to-hand combat just isn't necessary for a typical twelve-year-old out here.

  And these children will never be taught the sexual manipulation techniques that were a hallmark of Stateless. The older ones have already been through some of it, and we can't erase that. Mary and Jocelyn can elevate with a snap of their fingers, the change uncanny. They would have been top of their class in a few years, and The Test would have been a breeze for them.

  These children will never take The Test.

  Escaping from the compound was their Test.

  I’m Karen on the outside, my assumed name and identity part of the ruse we have to follow in order to stay together. But inside our home, I’m Kina.

  And never, ever does anyone call me Sawyer.

  Callum comes back into the kitchen, moving to the sink to grab a thick bar of soap, washing his hands with the speed and care of a man who knows hard work. The darker blond hair that covers his arms turns brown as the water soaks it. I offer him a hand towel and he accepts it, smiling at me as he dries his hands.

  “The therapists came today,” he says. “Duff told me we can't turn them away.”

  “I know. And Hayley seems to like hers. The older children really hate it, though. Jocelyn said she feels manipulated.”

  “I can see that.” Callum mulls it over, various emotions flitting across his face. This new expressiveness is marvelous to watch, so many contours of who he is deep down showing on the surface now. So far, we've spent most of our psychological and emotional energy on the children, but what happened yesterday–oh, those kisses–has us both primed.

  Primed to spend some time on each other.

  Naked. In bed. With hours to explore.

  The thought makes my heart race–and my mind tries to outrun it. Even imagining sex with Callum starts the pull of elevation, a nasty reminder that I can't change what's been put inside me. Only time and active healing will make a difference.

  Isn't intimacy a form of healing?

  “Hey. Kina. Hello? The driveway?”

  “Huh?”

  He puts his hands on his hips, right where his faded jeans bunch up slightly, the old creases falling where they need to, the fabric stretching across thigh muscles in a way that sharpens my senses.

  “I was asking you about paving options.”

  “Sexy.” The word slips out before I can stop it.

  The way his mouth curls up in a smile, body language stoked and relaxed at the same time, is a draw pulling me to him.

  “Paving is sexy?”

  “I was being facetious.”

  “I think paving is sexy when I'm staring at you, talking about it.”

  “Is this what they call flirting in mass society, Callum? If so, it's quite silly.”

  “Nothing silly about this, Kina.” His hands are on me before I know it, lips on mine, the kiss fun and lighthearted. I'm in his arms, palms on his back, the flannel shirt he's wearing covering what feels like yards of curved muscle, moving as he embraces me in an active, ever-moving clasp that leaves me breathless.

  “Ewwwwww,” Tim says, interrupting us, standing in the doorway to the kitchen holding an empty soda can. “That's–ew!”

  We pull away from each other swiftly, all of the passion draining out of me as if someone pulled a stopper.

  “I, um, we, uh,” I stammer, my fingers fluttering along his neck, the collarbone strangely fascinating. I still haven’t gotten used to Callum without his birthmark. Traces of it remain if you look closely.

  I enjoy being so close I can see it.

  “I know what you're doing,” Tim says, avoiding eye contact as he puts the can in the recycling bin. “Just, uh, don't do it where we can see you.” He shudders as he gives Callum a sidelong glance. “Girls are gross. Why would you…?”

  Muttering to himself, Tim leaves, and Callum and I find ourselves alone again.

  I blink.

  “We can't do that again,” I declare, half amused, half horrified.

  “We can't?” Is that panic I see in his eyes? “Never?”

  “Not, um, where the children can see.” Another piece of me marvels that Tim felt comfortable being so insouciant. Speaking that way to a trainer or leader on the compound would have led to four days in Woods as punishment.

  Now? He
re? He just walks away.

  Jolting me out of my thoughts, Callum reaches for my hand, guiding me out of the kitchen. He's on the first step to the upstairs when I ask, “Where are we going?”

  “To a place where we can do that again.”

  “Callum!”

  “You said–”

  “I know what I said. What I meant was–” I make a loud whoop! as he walks back and picks me up, carrying me up the steps quickly. I'm in his arms, laughing against his chest, inhaling his scent. He's been outside most of the day, working on maintenance. He smells like salt and soap and–

  Him.

  Just him.

  As Callum crosses the threshold to our wing, he uses his heel to kick the door shut, mouth on mine as he takes big steps to the bedroom. Stretching over me, he maneuvers our bodies so we're on the bed, his shirt in my hand, my fistful of fabric pulling it tight as he kisses me deeply, fully.

  It's time.

  It's really time.

  It's about time.

  “Do you have any idea,” Callum says as he pulls away and stands before me, my ass on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, “how much I've wanted to see you naked?”

  “You saw me naked last night.”

  “And it wasn't enough.”

  “How much is enough?”

  “I don't know. We'll have to expose me to a sufficient amount of your skin to determine that. Could take days. Weeks. Months… perhaps the rest of my life.” He's unbuttoning his shirt, looking down as the words come out of his mouth and I realize, oh, no.

  He never said it back.

  “I love you,” I say, watching as his fingers halt, two buttons undone, a sprinkling of chest hair showing from his open shirt.

  Smoldering eyes meet mine.

  “You were going to say it when I came back, but you never did. I told you I loved you. Love you.” Boldness makes me confront this head on, the timing bizarrely perfect. In Stateless culture, clarity mattered. Emotion wasn't allowed, but being blunt and direct was prized.

  Can we balance both?

  “Do you need me to say it?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “That's not an answer to my question.”

  “No. I don't need you to. I want you to love me, though. That much I know.”

  “Do you doubt it? That I love you?”

  I take in a shaky breath, anticipation making me throb. “No. I don't doubt it.”

  Without a sound, he undresses before me, the marvelous lines of his body revealed second by second, my gaze full and complete on him, his expectation clear and demanding:

  Watch me.

  See me.

  I am here.

  His very presence is the best I love you I could ever have, and he's telling me so with his body.

  Being here is how he expresses love. Presence matters. Deeds, more than words, define who he is.

  Slowly, with aching tenderness, he undresses me, holding my heels as he slips off my shoes, caressing my hips as he slides my jeans off, the wisp of my bra like a feather brushing against my skin as he unhooks it. By the time he's done, his gaze alone is enough to make me orgasm, the tantalizing sense of being thoroughly enjoyed with his eyes and his hands a frustrating taste of what's to come.

  “Callum,” I whisper, needing more, needing his mouth on me, needing him in me.

  “Kina,” he says back, pressing the length of his body against mine, belly to belly, hip bone to hip bone, the light hair that covers his limbs a contrast to my smooth skin. He feels so good, unencumbered and sensual, revealing himself to me in the most intimate of ways.

  I stretch up to kiss him, opening my mouth for more, but he stops me.

  We're so close, his face blurs slightly, out of focus but so compelling. We breathe each other's air, heart to heart, the beat synchronizing.

  “I do love you,” he confesses. “So much. So much that it hurts when I'm not with you. I have lied for you, hunted for you, killed for you, and I would die for you. I would do anything for you, Kina. It's always been you. There was never anyone else. We were brought together for a reason. Let me show you how much I love you. Let me show you everything.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Until the day I die, I'll love you. And if we can feel beyond death, I'll love you from the grave.”

  “Don't talk about that. Love me now. Touch me now. Make me feel, Callum. Make me feel all the emotions through you. Not just with you.”

  His hand moves between my legs, the blessed pleasure of his fingers making me gasp. He moves his hand up between us to my breast, turning the nipple hard with a simple stroke. “I don't know what that means, Kina, but right now, I'll do everything it takes to learn.”

  His lips find the hollow of my throat, tongue darting out to lick, then blow, the chill making me shiver, making me throb between my legs. I'm tingling and wet, aching with a hollow feeling that can only be filled by him. He kisses one breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking until I groan.

  And then he kisses a trail between my breasts, hands cupping my hips and ass, until he's between my legs, my body arching up to meet him, needing his mouth.

  A familiar tug, an inner collapse, begins.

  “No!” I whisper, furious that elevation is making its much reviled, but anticipated, appearance.

  “Fight it, Kina,” he commands, voice firm. “Fight it. I'm here. All of me is here. Every emotion. Every inch of my skin, every corner of my soul. I offer myself up to you. I'm as vulnerable as a man can be. Fight your training. Embrace who you really are and join me here,” he says, touching his heart with his left hand, my heart with his right. “Stay with me. Be with me.”

  The pull fades. It's still there, but less. My mind corrals it, sequestering it, keeping it on the sidelines. But instead of letting my body take over and just feel, I'm suddenly looping, worried I'll elevate. It’s all I can think about, making Callum's touch secondary.

  I hate being so disconnected.

  “Kina,” Callum murmurs against my inner thigh, fingers exploring from my knees to the spot where his hot breath makes it hard to stay distracted. “Let yourself feel this.” He kisses an exquisitely carnal spot between my legs, then does it again, this time using his tongue to make me gasp. “And this.” He does it again, this time using one finger to press against my folds, moving it against the slick wetness of my want. “And again and again, until all you are is this.”

  Another kiss between my legs, then his mouth and tongue are on me, in me, fingers moving to give me pleasure, the bundle of every sensation so overpowering. Giving myself over to it can't be an act of will, I understand logically. The harder I fight, the stronger it becomes.

  Callum is wrong.

  I can't battle this.

  I have to surrender to it.

  I have to surrender to him.

  “What about you?” I rasp, shaking with delight but suddenly self-conscious. “Do you feel it, too?”

  He moves up the bed, takes my hand, and puts it on his extremely hard erection. “Oh, yes.”

  “Not that,” I say with a laugh that turns to a low moan as he returns to his place between my legs and does more unspeakably divine movements with that tongue. “Ele-va-tion.” I can barely say the word.

  “No. It stopped completely last time we were together. It's gone. Time to make it stay the hell out of our bed. Out of our sex life. Out of our heads and bodies. Let's replace it with something so much better,” he says as he stops talking and focuses solely on me.

  Time dissolves as he licks and sucks, using his fingers, his knees nudging my legs further apart. At one point, he takes my foot and moves it over his shoulder, the change of angle so delicious that I shift my other foot, opening myself up completely, the shared goal of intimacy, of rapturous pleasure, making me bold.

  The tipping point comes before I know it, a shaking tension in my muscles that turns rapidly to a flood of heat in my blood, the sensation unlike any other. I cry out, holding onto his
shoulders, fingers crawling through his hair until I tug, as if he's all I have to anchor myself as I ride a wave into the unknown.

  Callum finds his way to me, the kiss taking more of my breath away as he centers himself over me and slowly, perfectly, enters me, the sensation so sublime that I split in two and fuse all the parts of me together at the same time. The deeper he goes, the more present I feel.

  No elevation. No disconnect. This is the polar opposite, so good that emotion overwhelms me with happiness, a blissful gratitude that fills me as Callum finds his way to my core.

  “You,” he says, looking down at me, gently moving my legs so they wrap about his waist, every small shift just enough to feel oh, so much better. “I get to be with you. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? For you? I tried to erase you from my memories. From my thoughts. But all those years,” he says, pulling out slowly, rocking in a rhythm that makes every cell in me turn electric, “you invaded my dreams. My body was yours, but you didn't know it. My spirit was, too. And my heart–I knew you had it. I knew it was hopeless. But I never knew, never imagined how good this could be.” Another stroke and he intensifies, dipping his head down, closing his eyes.

  Moonlight illuminates the tips of his eyelashes, ghostly and beautiful.

  A hitch in his breath makes my own pulse quicken, my hips arching up to meet his pace. We move faster and faster, my fingers digging into his waist, then cresting up his back. I cling to him as his power infuses me, the sense that I'm here and yet not here, solid and shattered, light and dark, all mixing inside me as he makes a low moan, a sound of deep pleasure that comes from me.

  I made him feel that.

  My body made him turn emotion into sound, turn skin into a tuning fork, turn a caress into a clench, and now–

  “Oh!” I gasp as his body tightens and I feel it, the moment we go over into this new place, my throat tight, my breath gone to ecstasy. He's riding me, lost inside my body, finding sanctuary in my flesh.

  We explode together and recover together, too.

  “How could you ever doubt my love?” he asks, lips wet against the curl of my ear, heavy breath muting his words.

  “I never did.”

  “Good.” He rests on one elbow, my hands sliding down to his tight ass. A throaty chuckle rumbles from his ribs to mine. “You like that?”