Sedition by Alicia Cameron Page B

rather you tell me than try to sabotage things,” he says, the words coming out as more of an order than a preference. “It still stands that you can say no whenever you’d like, but if you’re doing it to get back at me for something, you need to tell me what I’ve done that’s made you act this way. I’m doing my best to keep you informed; I’d appreciate it if you give me the same courtesy.”
    He’s not trying to be demeaning or shaming, but I do feel ashamed. I’m treating this as a game, a test to see if he can pass without knowing the rules, and he’s seriously concerned about my happiness. “It’s nothing you did,” I mutter. I go for a lie, because I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, that I don’t completely trust him, that I’m testing him. “I’m just not feeling that well tonight. My stomach’s kind of upset, but I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
    “Oh,” he says, suddenly looking relieved, but also worried. “Well, can I get you anything? I don’t want you to be in pain.”
    I smile, feeling even more guilty about the white lie. “I’ll be fine,” I promise him. “I just… I kind of want to just let it pass, you know?” What I really want to let pass is my bizarre insistence on pushing him.
    “Of course,” he replies, moving to stand up.
    I grab his hand, smiling as I feel the warmth in my own. “Cash?” I ask, drawing his eyes to mine again. “Would you really want me to tell you if you’ve done something that makes me uncomfortable?”
    “Yes,” he answers instantly. “Sascha, you’re not just a dumb slave that I keep around for cooking and cleaning. You’re not even just a wonderful bed partner, although, trust me, you are that. You might end up being my partner in research, or even in crime, and it’s vital that we both be as honest as possible about how things are going. I made a mistake in not telling you about it sooner, and I don’t intend to make that mistake again. It was stupid and risky for both of us. However, I can’t have you keeping things from me, either. I’m willing to trust you with a lot, Sascha; I hope that the courtesy gets extended both ways.”
    I squeeze his hand. “I’ll tell you if you do something that bothers me,” I promise. I’m not lying to him; he hasn’t done anything to upset me at all. I’m upset by being a slave. I’m testing him because a slave should expect his master to demand sex, not because he has ever demanded it from me.
    He believes me, which doesn’t make me feel any better. He doesn’t push the issue.
    “Get some rest,” he says softly, walking to the door. “I hope you feel better in the morning.”
    It’s moments like this that make me start to trust him. He is still cold and hard as ice sometimes, and if I interrupt him, he’s quick to snap or correct me. I work to be less sensitive to it, especially after observing him on a video call with one of his associates. He cuts the person down with as much viciousness as he does me, but the business associate doesn’t cower and hide, he corrects himself, corrects Cash where he has misconceptions, and moves on. I think back to the times when Cash and I have engaged similarly, and I realize he does respond better to a fight than to sheer submission. He’s looking for someone to meet him at his level.
    I try to, while still being respectful enough as a slave. It’s a fine line, but I start to understand the boundaries quickly, and it becomes clear that he won’t hurt me for disagreeing with him, or even for arguing with him. He gets particularly demeaning when he’s tired, and one day, I dare to remind him that he’s the one who asked for my help, not the other way around. I tell him further that his treatment isn’t making me any more likely to get things done well. He bristles, but he doesn’t retaliate, and he approaches me next time with a bit more respect in his tone. We both need to be reined in at times.
    We work best when we’re