BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Dr. Solomon Xavier picked up the magazine someone had left on the seat. He’d forgotten to take his phone charger with him when he went to the hospital and the battery had died at some point while he was in surgery. A young woman he’d aided in getting asylum in the US had undergone reconstructive surgery on her hands, which had been smashed by her “husband”—a term he used loosely because she’d been thirteen when she was married.

He still had admitting rights at major hospitals in D.C., Atlanta, and L.A. but rarely had opportunities like this to actually be a part of the surgeries he helped arrange. There were days he missed the simplicity of surgery—taking a problem and fixing it. After Bangladesh, his life had changed in more ways than he could count. The most visible was the scar on his face, but the most meaningful was him walking away from a promising career as a transplant surgeon. He’d gone from having complete control over his professional environment to facing issues and situations that he was nearly powerless to fix.

He flipped through the glossy magazine out of boredom as the train took him to his hotel. He’d be in D.C. for another day, then he was off to U.N. headquarters in New York for a fundraiser and some meetings, before returning to the Philippines to do an assessment of the medical facilities and infrastructure that the U.N. had helped put in place after the floods.

Frowning, Solomon—Sol to his friends and family—flipped back a few pages to one of the ads.

A well-endowed blonde was posed with her ass to the camera as she twisted to look over her shoulder. She was naked except for a pair of pale green lace panties with a ridiculous bow on the butt and gold heels with bondage-style lacings up the back. The caption read “these are my big girl panties.” There was a small logo in the bottom corner of the page—the stylized outline of a red-headed woman with the name “MissyMaven” under it.

Solomon laughed softly and traced his finger over the logo. “Hello, Red.”

* * *

“Dr. Xavier, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Solomon picked his whiskey up off the table and followed the trim young staffer from the sponsoring organization. At the moment, he couldn’t even recall what group was putting on the gala fundraiser, but the beneficiary of the proceeds was a health organization that set up vaccine clinics in rural areas around the world. He’d worked with them in the past, and agreed to attend the fundraiser. He was both cynical enough to know that his “tragic” past, coupled with his family connections, made him an excellent spokesperson for health issues, and pragmatic enough to not care that he was being used. As long as the money got where it needed to go he’d do whatever was needed.

he asked, experience having taught him it was better to know who he was about to meet so he could tailor his

to this event. She asked specifically to

was almost no fabric along her back, the garment instead held together by dozens of small gold chains, a hint

his glass down on a

The sponsor representative

face

The slim young man was smiling in a way that meant the donation had been very large

Her lips were glossy cherry, catching the light as she smiled. Solomon’s mouth went

was both dangerous and taxing, about mixing his life as a Dom with what he did outside a dungeon—melted away. How stupid of him not to realize until that moment that none of

Ms. Block, this is Dr. Solomon Xavier.

her hand—not to be shaken, but with her palm facing the floor. Xavier took it, bowing slightly. For the first time in a week he felt whole. For a moment her gaze dipped and her fingers trembled in his. He squeezed her

“Ms. Block.”

“Dr. Xavier.”

kept the words formal and polite while inside he

“And you.”