Riddler pauses and draws back to look John dead in the eye. "Are you... giving me carte blanche for seventy two hours?"

Because that is possibly the sexiest thing he has ever been told if it is. To not steal control, but have it given to him, handed on a platter (electrified, submissive platter) is a headrush and a half.

"I'm not suppose to make decisions. Or write contracts. Or any of the things I almost exclusively do here."