Page 51 of Crocodile Tears
Cal remains in the doorway, apparently uncertain about whether to leave or stay.His expression shows fascination rather than the repulsion I’ve experienced from previous partners who witnessed my shifting behavior.
“Most people find reptilian grooming habits disturbing,” I say while working on scale cleaning.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him.“Most people don’t understand that different physiology requires different maintenance protocols.”
“You’re not disturbed by watching me clean scales?”
“Why would I be when I have scales of my own?”He approaches slowly, his expression showing genuine interest rather than polite tolerance.“I find both your brilliant mind and your crocodile nature equally appealing.”
The complete acceptance of both aspects of my identity—scientific and reptilian—from someone whose opinion matters to me hits me with unexpected emotional force.Without overthinking for once in my life, I reach for him and pull him into a kiss that carries all the gratitude and attraction I’ve been processing since our escape began.Unlike our frantic first encounter in the storage closet, this kiss is deliberate and exploratory.
He responds immediately, stroking my partially shifted skin with obvious appreciation for the textural differences.When he traces the scales along my shoulders, I shiver with pleasure at the enhanced sensitivity.
“I’ve never had a partner who wasn’t afraid of my shifting,” I whisper against his lips.
He trails kisses down my neck to where scales meet human skin.“I’ve never had a partner who understood reptilian nature from personal experience.”
The combination of emotional acceptance and physical attraction creates intensity that makes our previous encounter seem rushed by comparison.I pull him toward the sleeping mat with scientific precision applied to seduction techniques.
“Your turn,” I say while working on the fastenings of his shirt with hands that are steadier than I expected.
Cal helps me remove his clothing, but I stop him when he reaches for his pants.I want to explore this methodically, the way I approach everything that matters.His chest is broader than his clothes suggested, with lean muscle that speaks to functional strength rather than gym vanity.The skin is warm under my palms, and I feel his heartbeat accelerating as I trace the contours.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, surprised by how much I mean it.
The scars tell stories I want to catalog—a puckered mark near his shoulder, a thin line across his ribs, and then smaller nicks and marks that map a dangerous career.When I trace the longest scar with my fingertip, he catches my hand.
“Shrapnel from an IED in Afghanistan.”His voice carries the matter-of-fact tone of someone who’s made peace with old pain.
I press my lips to the scar, tasting salt and the faint musk of his skin.“How many operations have you been on?”
Cal’s free hand finds my hair, threading his fingers through the strands.“Enough to make civilian dating complicated.Until now.”
He pulls me up for a kiss that tastes like coffee and something deeper I don’t want to analyze yet.Instead, I push him down onto the sleeping mat and straddle his hips, taking control with the same approach I use when a hypothesis is too important to rush.“Let me show you how I attack complicated problems.”
He settles his hands on my hips with possessive pressure that makes my pulse skip.I begin mapping his responses systematically—where he’s sensitive, what pressure makes him groan, and how his breathing changes when I find the right spots.The scientist in me catalogs every reaction, but something else happens that makes my chest tight with unfamiliar emotion.
“You’re conducting research,” he says, his voice rough as I test his sensitivity to different touches.
I lean down to bite gently at his collarbone, feeling him shudder beneath me.“I’m applying scientific methodology to intimate situations.Hypothesis formation, testing, and data collection for optimal results.”
“What’s your hypothesis?”
I trail kisses down his chest, pausing to explore the hollow of his throat, where his pulse hammers against my lips.“That reptilian shifters have enhanced compatibility that creates unique sensory experiences unavailable to human partners.”
“And your testing methodology?”
I demonstrate by allowing a partial shift, increasing my strength as scales appear along my arms.The enhanced flexibility lets me arch and move in ways that would be impossible in fully human form.Cal’s sharp intake of breath and the way his hips buck upward confirm my hypothesis with gratifying enthusiasm.
“Data supports the initial hypothesis,” I say while working lower on his body, kissing and nipping at the ridged muscle of his abdomen.When I reach the waistband of his pants, I look up to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter.I unfasten his pants slowly, enjoying the way his breathing becomes ragged with anticipation.
He’s already hard when I free him from his underwear, his cock thick and flushed with arousal.I wrap my hand around the shaft, testing his response to different pressures and rhythms while he groans my name like a prayer.
“You’re killing me,” he whispers, but his hands encourage rather than stop my exploration.
When I take his cock into my mouth, using the enhanced control that comes with partial shifting, his reaction exceeds my most optimistic projections.He tastes clean and masculine with an underlying flavor that appeals to something primal in my reptilian nature.I work him with systematic precision, cataloging which techniques make him gasp, which make his hips jerk, and which draw the most desperate sounds from his throat, all while trying to control my own responses.
“Becci… ” He tangles his hands in my hair with controlled strength that reveals his own enhanced capabilities.“You’re incredible.”
