[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Oops. He didn’t mean to reveal that.

It wasn’t that much of a secret, but he didn’t like talking about it. Because talking about it would inevitably lead to talking about virtual pods, which he had no idea what they looked like currently, after all, the virtual pod he was currently using was a technology from the future of this world.

"Sometimes," he admitted hesitantly. "When I have time."

Grayson’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "What’s your rank?"

"I—it’s nothing impressive. Just casual."

Grayson raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Your rank."

There was no getting out of this.

Neville sighed. "Silver III. But I mostly stick to solo mode, so—"

"Silver III? That’s quite high." Grayson was pleasantly surprised and looked proud. "Why didn’t you tell anyone about this before?"

Because revealing too much about myself is dangerous. Because I’m supposed to be an ordinary secretary, not someone who can pilot mechas. Not that he could hide it much longer, given how he piloted a mecha back when they fought the star pirates.

"It didn’t seem important," Neville said weakly.

Grayson hummed, unconvinced, but let the matter drop. He stepped closer, and Neville found himself backing up until his shoulders pressed against the wall. Grayson’s pheromones thickened by the second.

"You know," Grayson said in a weirdly playful way. "I have a full-scale replica in the hidden section of the penthouse."

"A... replica?"

"Of my personal mecha, Black Dragon." Grayson’s lips curved into a knowing look. "It’s not combat-ready, but the cockpit is fully functional. For training purposes."

Neville’s brain required a moment to process this information.

Grayson had a full-scale mecha in his penthouse.

"That’s... quite something," he managed to say, hiding his excitement

"Mm." Grayson’s hand came up to rest beside Neville’s head, effectively caging him in place. "I couldn’t help but wonder."

"Hm? About what?"

Grayson’s eyes burned with an intensity that had inevitably become all too familiar to him. "Your first time. The one you’ve been saving."

Neville’s heart skipped a beat. "What about it?"

"Would you want to do it in a mecha?"

The question was so absurd and sincere at the same time that Neville’s mouth opened and closed several times without producing any sound.

"What?"

Grayson didn’t even look one bit embarrassed as he said, "I’m asking if you want your first time to happen in a special place, like, let’s say, the Black Dragon’s cockpit."

This man, Neville thought as he looked at Grayson incredulously, is actually serious.

"I..." Words failed him.

What was he supposed to say to that? Yes, please, let’s defile a priceless military replica just to deflower him?

No, that’s insane!

Or should I say that he would rather stay in the bedroom like normal people and risk Grayson jumping at the first sign of opportunity?

Grayson watched him struggle with amusement, his thumb rubbing Neville’s reddened ear.

"If the atmosphere is right," he murmured. "Would you consider it?"

The emphasis on atmosphere told Neville that Grayson wasn’t actually planning to haul him down there right this second. But the question itself revealed that Grayson was actually negotiating with him.

"If the moment is good," Neville heard himself say, "Then... sure."

Grayson’s smile was radiant, softening the sharp lines of his features and lighting up his eyes. Neville had seen Grayson smirk, seen him satisfied, seen him predatory and possessive and pleased.

But what is this? This unfiltered happiness?

This was a dangerous conversation to have.

"Then I’ll make sure the moment is good," Grayson promised, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Before Neville could respond, Grayson already leaned in. The distance between them closed in a second, and his soft lips pressed against his with familiarity.

The kiss started gently, but Neville had learned by now that gentleness with Grayson was always temporary. Sure enough, within moments, the pressure increased. Grayson’s lips eventually trailed down his throat.

The cold wall pressed against his shoulders through the sweater, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from the man in front of him. He shivered a little, but he didn’t know if it was because of the wall or the sensation of Grayson’s teeth grazing his collarbone.

"Cold?" Grayson asked in a rough voice.

Before he could even reply, Grayson’s strong arms were already wrapped around him, pulling him forward until there was no space between their bodies.

"Better?" Grayson murmured against his hair.

Neville nodded a little as they continued without care. His hands moved of their own accord, palms pressing flat against Grayson’s bare chest.

The muscles beneath his palms moved and flexed as Grayson adjusted his position. Neville found himself clinging rather than pushing away. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Knowledge was power, and Neville had always been an excellent student.

Grayson’s breath hitched when Neville’s fingertips traced the groove between his pectoral muscles. His grip tightened reflexively when Neville’s nails scraped lightly over his shoulders—touching every subtle scar from military service.

Grayson’s chest rumbled with something between a growl and a purr. "Vee."

Neville didn’t like that nickname at first, but now it sent warmth pooling in his stomach every time he heard it from those lips.

"What?" His voice came out breathy, distracted.

Instead of answering, Grayson’s hands found the hem of Neville’s sweater. Neville’s response was to lift his arms without hesitation.

Now they were matched, both in sweatpants and nothing else.

"Your hands," Grayson said, and there was that warning edge again.

Grayson tilted his head, deepening the kiss until Neville’s thoughts went fuzzy around the edges. Their pheromones intensified, wrapping around each other.

But Neville’s hand still mindlessly roamed around Grayson’s body.

"Ugh—" the moment Grayson groaned.

Neville had no time to process what happened before his wrists were caught in a single large hand and pinned above his head. The position arched his back slightly, bringing their bodies even closer together.

Through the thin barrier of their sweatpants, Neville could feel—

His thought process derailed entirely when Grayson’s free hand began to roam on his own body.

The touch was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Each point of contact left trails of sensation in its wake, as if Grayson’s touch had something that Neville’s was powerless to resist.

"Gray—" The name emerged as half-question, half-plea.

"Shh." Grayson’s hand dipped lower, tracing the subtle ridges of Neville’s abdomen. "Let me."