Njideka’s mouth opened.
What came out was a disaster.
“Yes—” Wait, fuck! “No, I mean…” Shut up, shut UP! “That’s… fine.”
Fine?! FINE?!
Her brain screamed at her: “Is that all you could manage, you useless hoe?! Where’s all that big-girl energy from the conference?!” But how could she think straight when this man—this god—smelled like expensive cologne and trouble, and stood close enough that she could see the way his shirt strained over his chest with every breath?
“Thank you,” he purred, flashing a smile. The kind of smile that made her knees forget their job description. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Njideka nodded like a pepper-grinding machine stuck on “yes.” Her brain had officially left the building. She watched, hypnotized, as he lifted one finger—just one—and the bartender came running like a man who knew tips weren’t the only thing this brother was handing out tonight.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” His voice was deep, smooth.
“Uh… M-Mai Tai,” she stammered, her mouth suddenly dry.
He nodded, then turned to the bartender. “One Mai Tai… and one Schweppes Soda Water with lime.” Njideka’s eyebrows shot up. “Schweppes Soda Water?” The disbelief in her voice could’ve sunk the Titanic all over again. He shrugged—oh sweet Jesus, those shoulders—and the simple motion made her thighs clench.
“I don’t really drink,” he said. “I like to stay in control… of myself.” A pause. A smirk. “And other things.” Then he winked. Control.
That one word detonated between her legs like a bomb. Suddenly, all she could think about was the lecturer—the things he controlled, the ways he controlled them… and how badly she wanted this man to take the wheel tonight. The bartender slid their drinks across the counter.
Njideka took a shaky sip, her mind racing fast
“That’s good,” Njideka lied smoothly as the bartender slid her overpriced cocktail toward her. The glass was sweating almost as much as she was.
“I’m not much of a drinker either.” She lifted her drink toward him, fingers trembling just enough to make the ice clink. “Two’s my limit—after that, I start confessing sins even the priest doesn’t wanna hear.”
Kunle’s grin was slow, sinful, and entirely too knowing. “To staying sober and in control, then,” he purred, tapping his glass against hers with a ting. Njideka sucked her straw like her life depended on it, watching over the rim as he threw back his drink, his throat working in a way that made her own mouth go dry. When he set the tumbler down, his lips glistened, and God help her, she wondered how they’d taste.
“I’m Kunle, by the way.”
When he reached out, Njideka’s hand moved on its own.
His palm swallowed hers whole, warm and rough in all the right places. That grip—firm, confident, just shy of possessive—sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. Every inch of him was maddeningly perfect. The broad shoulders. The stupidly handsome face. And now these hands, capable of crushing bones, but holding her like she was something precious.
“I’m uh… I’m Cynthia,” she stammered as his hand slipped away from hers.
Big. Mistake.
Kunle’s face transformed. That panty-dropping smile vanished, replaced by a look so dark.
“Well, Cyn-thi-a,” he drawled, slicing her name into syllables like a butcher with a grudge. His voice had gone colder. “Have a good evening.”
With a stiff nod that screamed “You’re dead to me,” he spun on his polished shoes and started walking away like she’d just insulted his entire bloodline.
“Wait!” Njideka’s voice cracked like a teenage boy’s. Her brain scrambled for answers—had she spat in his drink? Forgotten to brush her teeth? What the actual hell just happened? He paused, turning just enough to give her a look so empty it made her knees weak—and not in the good way.
“What…what did I say?” she blurted out. The club’s music pounded in time with her racing heart as she searched his stone-cold face for clues.
Kunle moved back toward her with the slow, deliberate swagger.
“We both know your name isn’t Cynthia?” His voice was a deep, rumbling threat.
Njideka’s eyes dropped in shame.
“Look at me.” That command rolled off his tongue like pure honey and hot coal—sweet but ready to burn. Her head snapped up, helpless as a puppet on a string.
Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Broad chest. Thick arms. And those eyes—dark, knowing, locked onto hers.
“If you want to play this game,” he murmured, leaning in so close his breath tickled her ear, “you better come correct. No fake names. No bullshit. If ‘Cynthia’ is who you want to be tonight, then go find another man to waste his time. But me?” A slow, wicked smirk. “I only deal with real women.”
Njideka’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. This man wasn’t just calling her out—he was owning her, and the worst part? She loved it.
“I… I understand,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I’ve never— I don’t even know why I—”
“Name.” One word. No room for negotiation.
She swallowed hard. “Njideka.”
The moment her real name left her lips, his expression shifted—like a predator who’d finally caught the scent of what he really wanted.
“There she is,” he purred, fingers brushing her chin. “Now… let’s start over.”
Kunle’s smile returned.
“Ah, now we’re talking,” his expression seemed to say as his eyes drank her in from head to toe.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Njideka,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue. That deep voice alone should come with a warning label. He glanced around the bar with the casual confidence of a man who owned every space he entered, then nodded toward a shadowy corner where the booths promised more… private conversations.
“Why don’t we take this somewhere quieter?” The suggestion was polite.
“Um, okay,” Njideka squeaked, suddenly very aware of how her dress clung to her curves and how her new heels made her ass pop just right. When his big hand enveloped hers, electricity shot straight to her core. Holy Mother of Jesus, this man’s touch should be illegal. As they crossed the room, she could feel his gaze burning into her, lingering on the sway of her hips, the dip of her waist, the way her cleavage peeked out just enough to tease. Let him look, she thought, biting her lip to suppress a smirk. Tonight, she was the snack, and Kunle looked hungry.
The booth welcomed them like an accomplice to crime—plush, semi-circular, and suspiciously perfect for getting very close. Njideka slid in, her dress riding up just enough to make things interesting. Kunle didn’t even pretend to sit across from her; he claimed the space right beside her, their thighs brushing, his heat seeping through the thin fabric of her dress.
If you’re interested in the Oniranu Weekend Brunch, please fill in your location below
Norway/Netherlands – Fill Norway/Netherlands Form
Canada – Fill Canadian Form
United Kingdom – Fill UK Form
United States – Fill U.S Form
Buy Oniranu Books on Selar.co from anywhere in the world
This post has already been read 16181 times!
