Page 28 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)

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.”

I vary my technique based on his responses, using my enhanced flexibility to create angles and pressures impossible for human partners.

The way he trembles beneath my ministrations, the increasingly desperate quality of his breathing, and the barely restrained power in his grip all feed something hungry in my chest that has nothing to do with scientific curiosity.

When he’s trembling with barely controlled need, I release him and move back up his body, positioning myself above him with deliberate slowness. “Ready for the next phase of testing?”

Cal’s eyes show the kind of focused intensity I associate with complex problem-solving. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to not hold back your shifting. I want to experience full compatibility rather than modified human approximation.”

He responds by allowing his own partial transformation, creating textural changes that enhance our physical connection beyond anything I’ve experienced with human partners. When I lower myself onto his cock, the sensations are amplified by our enhanced physiology.

“Perfect.” I gasp while adjusting to his size from this angle and noting the new sensory information. “This is exactly what I hypothesized.”

Cal’s hands guide my movements while his shifted features create expression patterns I find fascinating and attractive. “Your hypothesis was accurate.”

I establish a rhythm that takes advantage of our enhanced strength and flexibility, rolling my hips in ways that would be impossible without shifter capabilities.

Each movement sends waves of sensation through both of us, and I find myself cataloging not just the physical responses but the way he looks at me, like I’m something precious and wild at the same time.

“More research required,” I manage while increasing the tempo and bracing my hands against his chest for leverage.

The muscles under my palms flex as Cal responds by gripping my hips and shifting our positions in one fluid motion.

His enhanced strength makes it effortless to support my weight while keeping us joined, and the new angle sends sparks of pleasure racing up my spine to places that make rational thought nearly impossible.

“How’s this for research data?” he asks, his voice rough with exertion as he establishes a rhythm that tests every bit of my scientific detachment.

“Excellent experimental design.” I exhale raggedly, meeting his thrusts with enthusiasm. The way he fills me, the friction and pressure hitting exactly the right spots, is beyond anything I calculated or hypothesized.

Our reptilian characteristics emerge naturally as we move together.

My scales create textured friction patterns against his skin, which has taken on the subtle roughening that comes with his own partial shift.

The enhanced flexibility lets us find positions that would challenge normal human anatomy while our increased strength makes possible the kind of intense, demanding movements that my crocodile nature has always craved but I’ve never been able to explore.

For the first time in any intimate encounter, I don’t have to monitor my shifting or moderate my strength. Cal not only accepts my complete reptilian nature but responds with his own enhanced capabilities, creating feedback loops of sensation and intensity that build exponentially.

“I don’t have to hold back.” The words come out breathlessly as I ride him with an abandon that feels revolutionary. My scales have spread across my shoulders and down my arms, creating patterns of sensitivity I’ve never experienced during sex.

Cal’s grip on my hips tightens, his fingers pressing into my skin with possession that sends heat racing through my veins. “Don’t hold back anything.”

The permission unleashes responses I’ve suppressed in every previous relationship.

My scales extend further, climbing up my neck and down my torso in patterns that catch the lamplight.

My strength increases, allowing me to move with demands that would overwhelm a human partner.

Cal meets every movement with equal intensity, his own shift creating the kind of primal interaction that makes something deep in my chest unclench for the first time.

“This is what I needed,” I say, the vulnerability of it making my voice crack even as I build toward a climax that feels more intense than anything I’ve experienced. “To not have to hide what I am.”

Cal’s eyes, now showing flecks of reptilian gold, hold mine as he maintains the rhythm that’s driving us both toward inevitable release. “This is what we both needed. To be exactly what we are.”

The emotion in his words combined with the physical intensity of our connection pushes me toward an edge I’ve never approached before—not just physical release, but something that feels like acceptance so complete it might change me permanently.

When my orgasm hits, it triggers full-body responses that include partial shifting and enhanced sensory processing. The intensity overwhelms my usually controlled responses, leaving me crying out with abandon while my body contracts around Cal’s cock.

His release follows immediately, triggered by my reactions and enhanced by our reptilian compatibility. He pulls me against him while spending himself inside me, creating the kind of primal satisfaction that my crocodile nature recognizes as perfect mating behavior.

For several minutes, we remain locked together while our enhanced physiologies process the intensity of what just occurred. My scales gradually fade as my shifting subsides, but the satisfaction remains at levels that suggest significant neurochemical changes.

“That was… ” I search for words while trying to catch my breath.

Cal strokes my hair as his features shift back to normal. “Incredible? Amazing? Awe-inspiring?”

With a laugh, I settle against his chest, my brain already trying to make sense of what just happened. “I think the partial shifting amplified everything way beyond normal human responses.”

“You’re analyzing our sex life already?”

I trace lazy patterns on his chest. “I’m trying to figure out what made that so different from every other relationship I’ve had.”

He chuckles and adjusts so we’re both more comfortable. “And?”

“Complete acceptance, I guess. I’ve never been with someone who wasn’t at least a little freaked out by the reptile side.” I pause, thinking. “Also, my whole controlled laboratory life suddenly seems limited compared to the past few days.”

“Limited how?”

I prop myself up to look at him. “Tactical operations, international travel, life-threatening situations, and intimacy where I don’t have to hide who I am. It’s been quite an expansion of experiences.”

He touches my shoulder where some scales are still visible. “I was planning to go completely civilian before I met you. Now, I’m not sure either of us needs conventional normal .”

“What do we need?”

“Balance, maybe? Something that accommodates your research and my security work without either of us having to suppress our essential nature.”

The idea gets my brain spinning in that way it does when I encounter an interesting problem. “We’d need to coordinate living arrangements, work schedules, finances, geographic flexibility… ”

He watches me mentally organize with obvious amusement. “You’re making relationship flowcharts in your head. Aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking systematically about our future.” I start running through compatibility variables. “Housing, career coordination, financial planning, and travel requirements. Everything needs consideration for optimal outcomes.”

“Of course, you’re treating our relationship like a research project,” he teases.

I continue tracing patterns while my mind works through possibilities. “Systematic planning works better than improvisation. If we’re going to build something that accommodates both our professional requirements and personal needs, we should be strategic about it.”

He pulls me closer as I keep thinking out loud about logistics. “So, what are our odds?”

“Our odds?” I run through the factors—how well we work together, shared interests, complementary skills, and our mutual acceptance of shifter characteristics. “Maybe eighty-seven percent? Assuming good planning and regular adjustments based on new information.”

“Eighty-seven percent?” He sounds dubious.

“Statistically significant but not guaranteed. There are too many variables for complete predictability.” I settle more comfortably against him. “However, the initial data looks very promising.”

Cal laughs. “I love that you just calculated our relationship probability.”

“I love that you understand this is how I process deep emotions instead of thinking I’m being clinically detached.

” The admission surprises me with how accurate it feels.

What I’m feeling for Cal goes beyond attraction or intellectual compatibility.

It’s the kind of comprehensive acceptance I never expected to find.

“Deep emotions?” His voice carries obvious interest.

I think about how to explain feelings that don’t fit into neat scientific categories. “The kind that makes you willing to completely restructure your life around someone.”

“Are you saying you’re falling for me, Dr. Lawson?”

The direct question makes me assess honestly. “I’m saying I’ve already fallen for you, and continued exposure is only going to strengthen that conclusion.”

Cal kisses me before pulling back, looking satisfied. “Good, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I’m willing to completely restructure my life to keep what we’ve found.”

That creates emotional responses for which my scientific training definitely didn’t prepare me—complete acceptance, mutual understanding, and shared commitment to building something neither of us saw coming.

As we settle in to sleep, I keep murmuring about coordinating research schedules with his security consultations. My systematic approach makes him chuckle, but he clearly understands detailed planning is how I handle emotions too complex for direct expression.

“Becci?”

“Mmm?”

“For the record, I think eighty-seven percent is conservative. I’m calculating closer to ninety-four percent.”

I smile against his chest, already adjusting my mental model. “I’ll factor that into my ongoing analysis.”

“Of course, you will.”

As sleep takes over, I realize my controlled laboratory existence just expanded to include possibilities I never imagined.

The scientist in me wants to catalog everything we’ve discovered while my crocodile nature simply wants to hold on to this feeling of complete acceptance and shared understanding.

For the first time in my adult life, the future feels full of variables I actually want to explore instead of control or eliminate.