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

"You’re nervous," Grayson said.

Neville’s attention snapped back to Grayson’s eyes and said, "I’m not."

"But why are your hands sweating?" Grayson pointed out with a playful tone.

From the corner of Grayson was the floor-to-ceiling window. Neville could see a meteor shower, dropping from the sky. But to him, it felt like the meteor shower became a star and enhanced Grayson’s handsome face.

"It’s naturally sweaty," Neville said, trying to stay calm.

"Is that so?" As if trying to confirm if it was true, Grayson reached a finger on the underside of his wrist, feeling his pulse.

Neville couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting down to watch the motion.

They looked wrong wrapped around Neville’s smaller hand.

Wrong in a way that felt terrifyingly right.

His gaze began to burn Neville, making him stifling his breathing.

Grayson noticed every micro-expression that flickered across Neville’s face. The slight parting of his lips. The almost undetectable tremor in his captured hand.

This was fun, Grayson thought, satisfaction filling inside his chest. I should have done this earlier.

He had watched this little secretary climb through the ranks of his company.

Until now, he could even brainwash himself to deny, ignore, or bear keeping his feelings in check.

But in just a whole day of a single date, he completely made a mess of himself.

Without hesitation, Grayson pulled Neville closer.

Neville stumbled forward, and Grayson’s free hand found the small of his back, steadying him—or maybe just wanting an excuse to touch more.

The fabric of Neville’s sweater felt thin beneath his palm. He could feel the warmth of skin beneath, the subtle tension in those thin muscles.

Neville’s eyes shot back up to meet his, wide and startled, catching the ambient light passing through the window.

There, Grayson thought with satisfaction. That expression.

"See?" he whispered, leaning down until his breath ghosted across Neville’s cheek. His voice was pitched so low and deliberately innocent, as if he weren’t the one doing all these rogue things. "If you react like this all the time, people would doubt our relationship."

It was reasonable, but he didn’t sound like it.

Neville struggled to form a coherent response, acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touched.

Grayson’s chest against his. That large hand splayed possessively across his back. Their intertwined fingers, still connected, pressed between them.

"This is... a normal reaction." His voice came out breathier than intended.

"Not normal for a couple ’in love’."

Neville couldn’t help but blink a couple of times when he heard that.

His free hand hurriedly came up, pressing against Grayson’s chest in a futile attempt to create some distance. He managed maybe three centimeters—enough to feel like he wasn’t drowning but not enough to actually escape from Grayson’s clutches.

Grayson was being a little too pushy today, which was so unlike him.

"O-okay," he managed. "I-I understand."

His own stuttering annoyed him.

This man had reduced him to a stammering mess again.

"Do you?" Grayson tilted his head slightly.

That movement made him look younger somehow, almost boyish—if one ignored his burning gaze.

Neville couldn’t look away.

The apartment fell silent, and he could hear everything around them.

It felt like everything was in slow motion.

He could feel Grayson’s heart pounding through his hands.

Grayson’s body moved before his mind could catch up, leaning closer and closer until his forehead nearly touched Neville’s.

He remembered those stolen kisses that Neville would never remember. It still made him feel like an absolute bastard, but he didn’t regret it and would like to do it again.

Then that one time when Neville had initiated... he was really lucky.

His eyes darkened as he further recalled.

It was better when this mouth was moving against his.

The thought burned in his mind, and without further hesitation, Grayson closed the remaining distance and kissed Neville.

[Favorability +2%]

Neville’s mind short-circuited.

Ki—Kiss?

A kiss?!

The thought was fuzzy, distant, drowned out by the sensation of warm lips pressing against his own.

They were really kissing?! Like right now?!

[KYAAAAA! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧]

He barely registered Shelly’s mind-buzzing shriek.

All his processing power was devoted to deciphering why Grayson was kissing him.

Not a stolen peck.

Not a strategic performance for onlookers.

A real, moving kiss.

The pressure was gentle at first, pressing softly on his lips—trying to test his reaction.

Since he wasn’t rejected, things quickly escalated.

Then, Grayson’s free hand, which had been resting idly against the small of Neville’s back, began to slowly move up.

It traced Neville’s spine up until it cupped the nape of his neck. His thumb began brushing rhythmically against the pale and sensitive skin there.

The touch sent sparks down Neville’s spine, making his legs soft.

Don’t kiss back, a frantic, fading voice whispered in the back of Neville’s mind. This is fake. Remember? A fake relationship. With fake feelings. Fake—

His rational thought was shattered and drowned out when Grayson’s tongue traced the seam of his lips.

A hot stroke that begged for entry.

Neville felt like he was melting with each action, with each begging.

It wasn’t like this was their first time kissing, either. So, fuck it! I’ll just think about this later!

Neville leaned in, his lips parting in a silent surrender as he started kissing back.

The sound Grayson made was low, pleased, almost like a growl. It vibrated against Neville’s mouth.

The hand at Neville’s nape tightened, fingers tangling in his hair to angle his head back, exposing his throat and locking them together.

What had started as a "wholesome", gentle kiss, transformed into a consuming need.

Neville’s fingers, still intertwined with Grayson’s, gripped tighter. His free hand hooked into the expensive fabric of Grayson’s shirt, clutching the material into his fist.

He wasn’t pushing anymore; he was pulling, dragging Grayson closer until there wasn’t a breath of space left between their heartbeats.

It made Grayson’s fresh water pheromones leak intensely, wrapping around Neville like a current. His own ocean pheromones rose in response, mingling in the air between them.

They kissed for a long time, lost in it.

Hungry for each other, yet unable to cross the final line.

Like something on the back of their mind was telling them to hold back.

They continued like this, wrapped around each other, pouring everything into savoring each other’s lips, entangling their tongues, and holding each other’s hands.

When they finally pulled apart, Neville was panting. Hard.

His lungs felt like it was burning. His lips felt swollen and tender. His entire body thrummed with a restless energy that had nowhere to go.

Somewhere in the chaos, they went a little off the couch and weren’t sitting properly anymore.

Realizing this, he felt exposed with his ocean-blue eyes bare and bright. The small red mole under his right eye was even more eye-catching with the blush on his cheeks.

On the other hand, Grayson looked infuriatingly calm. His breathing was slightly ragged, and his eyes looked darker than usual, but other than that, he appeared perfectly fine.

Then the bastard licked his lower lip.

A roguish gesture that drew Neville’s attention right back to that mouth and everything it had done with him.

"Wasn’t bad, was it?" Grayson said, flashing a playful smile.

Neville stared at him for a full three seconds.

Then his fist landed on Grayson’s shoulder.

"What do you think, a**hole?"

The punch had no real force in it. It was more of a reflexive frustration reaction rather than a real act of violence. But not putting any weight on it itself was so unlike Neville that it surprised them both.

Grayson, wide-eyed, suddenly chuckled.

That low voice, charming and satisfied, said, "See that? We really need to practice some more."

"Practice—"

The word was cut off as Grayson kissed him again.

This time, Neville was prepared. Or at least, he told himself he was prepared, right up until Grayson’s teeth caught his lower lip in a gentle bite that made his knees buckle. The arm around his nape was the only thing keeping him upright.

Whether he remembered those seven days or not, Grayson proved to be a real bastard through and through.

The second kiss was longer than the first. Much deeper, more thorough, as if Grayson was savoring and memorizing the inside of his mouth.

Whenever his eyes peered open, he could see Grayson’s narrowed eyes seemingly noting his every response, every sound that came out from him, every involuntary reaction he had.

When they separated again, Neville wasn’t just panting—he felt lightheaded.

Grayson stared at him with a soft, satisfied expression. His thumb traced the curve of Neville’s jaw, brushing against that telltale red mole, before gently leaning in.

Expecting a kiss, Neville reflexively closed his eyes.

But then the kiss never landed.

Instead, he heard a chuckle.

When Neville angrily opened his eyes again, Grayson pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Your lips are already swollen," Grayson said as if reminding him that he wouldn’t touch an injured person.

Neville touched his mouth self-consciously.

The skin felt hot and tender.

Great, he thought bleakly. It’s swollen again.