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The defiant part of me wants to tell him to go fuck himself. But the thought of being ripped away from him stops me. I reply, "You, Sir."
He studies me. I can feel it. He finally puts the gear into drive, and the car moves forward.
It's hard to stay silent with your hands laced behind the seat and your head bowed in a moving vehicle. Riggs shows me no mercy, veering lanes often and speeding whenever possible. The sound of horns erupts several times, and I fight the urge to break my position.
Time isn't my friend, and it seems to go slowly. My limbs begin to hurt. Right when I feel like I can't do this anymore, the car comes to a stop. "Punishment over. You may release your position," Riggs says.
I lift my head first, take a deep breath, and slowly move my arms to my lap. We're at a stoplight, and I realize it's an L.A. expressway exit. I glance at the clock.
Fifty-two minutes he kept me in that position.
Asshole.
"We'll be there in a few minutes," he announces.
I study the landscape, trying to figure out what part of the city we're in, but I can't. It's dark, and the only thing I'm sure of is that this isn't a neighborhood I want to be in alone.
Riggs races through town and then pulls into a parking garage. He places his palm on a screen and a set of concrete walls opens. He steers through them, and they shut behind us.
Whatever we're in moves up. Darkness is everywhere, except for the glow of the dashboard. A nervous apprehension fills me.
"Relax," Riggs demands.
I exhale, wondering how he knows I'm anxious.
The box comes to a halt. A new set of concrete doors open and four parking spots appear. Riggs selects one, reverses into the space, and turns off the car.
I reach for the door.
"Stop," he orders.
I turn my head toward him and freeze.
He declares, "You don't ever get out of the car unless I tell you to or I open your door. Understand?"
I try not to glare at him but must fail.
He shakes his head. "That right there is going to be your downfall."
"What would that be?"
"Sir. 'What would that be, Sir,'" he reprimands.
I smirk. "Sorry. What would that be, Sir?"
His eyes turn to slits. "Maybe I should call you brat instead of pet."
"I'm not a brat," I claim.
"You're acting like one."
"No, I'm not."
"Did you not learn any lessons from your punishment?" he threatens.
I take a deep breath and resist rolling my eyes. The punishment was doable, but I don't care for another, so I answer, "I did, Sir."
He waits another moment, then adds, "Chivalry isn't dead, but I'm sure you think it is after the boys you dated. Don't ever open that door by yourself again unless instructed." He gets out of the Porsche and comes to my side. He opens the door and reaches in for me.
