Page 7 of A Virgo’s Muse (BLP Signs of Love #12)

Three Weeks Later

That night, he held me like he’d done it a thousand times before. No rush. No expectations. There was just a quiet, steady presence that wrapped around me like a second skin. It was the kind of embrace that didn’t demand anything back. The kind that just was—solid, grounding, real.

The TV was on, but neither of us paid it any attention. We were curled on the couch in silence with my legs draped over his lap and my cheek resting against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my ear. It was slow and constant, the only rhythm I needed right then.

He smelled like cedarwood and something warm I couldn’t name… like nights where everything slowed down. I don’t know how long we sat there before I finally spoke.

“Are you always this quiet?” I asked, my voice soft in the dim light.

He chuckled low, a rough sound vibrating through his chest. “Only when I’m tryin’ not to mess up the peace.”

I looked up at him, catching the faintest smirk on his lips. “So you’re saying I make you peaceful?”

He met my gaze without flinching. “You make me want to be.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. It wasn’t some sweet-talking line. There was no performative charm in Onyx. He didn’t sell dreams. He handed you pieces of his truth like bricks, heavy and deliberate.

I tucked my chin into my shoulder, eyes drifting down to his large, rough-knuckled hand resting gently on my thigh, like he knew softness had more power than anything else right now.

“You ever imagine this?” I asked after a beat. “A life that felt like… ease?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like he was pulling the words from somewhere deep.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I had the space for it.”

I let that sit for a second. “What changed?”

“You walked in.”

Silence engulfed the space between us. It was the kind that filled the room without making it feel full.

I looked over at him again, searching for something I couldn’t name.

There was always something just beneath his surface, something he kept tucked behind that quiet demeanor and occasional smile.

He gave me pieces, but I knew better than to think I had the whole puzzle.

“You ever think about why you sculpt?” I asked. “Like really think about it?”

His eyes flicked to mine.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s the only way I know how to say things I ain’t ready to say out loud.”

My breath caught. He wasn’t what I expected when we met. Onyx was shadows and silence, a man who looked like he was built to break things, but instead… he made art. He held people. He saw things most folks overlooked. And the craziest part? He let me see him too.

That night we didn’t kiss. We didn’t do anything more than talk and exist in each other’s presence. But by the time I fell asleep in his arms, I realized something…

I didn’t feel alone anymore.

Present

Peace.

It wasn’t something I was used to, especially not the kind you could feel humming through your bones when you woke up, stretching under sunlight and hearing birds instead of anxiety. Onyx brought it with him. Every time he showed up, I breathed a little deeper.

He didn’t go more than two days without showing up with fresh flowers—tulips, lilies, hydrangeas, sometimes a mix. They were always chosen with intention.

“ My Desires deserves to bloom,” he said one morning, setting a bouquet on the front counter of my studio. His lips brushed my temple before walking out like it wasn’t the smoothest thing I’d ever heard.

He’d been applying pressure in ways I didn’t know how to resist. Not just with his presence, but with his consistency.

He did it with his care and the way he poured into me like he had no fear of running dry.

The morning after he held me, I woke up to a flood of notifications—mortgage paid in full and over $30,000 deposited into my account.

When I walked into my studio for the first time since, it looked like a damn art supply dreamscape.

I had new canvases, fresh paints, upgraded brushes and tools.

He hadn’t just gifted me materials; he restored the sanctuary I’d built with my own two hands, the one I thought I was losing.

I cried again that day but for a different reason.

And when I called him, overwhelmed and choked up, all he said was, “Told you I got it. You just focus on your parents. I want your hands back in the paint, not tied behind your back trying to fix everything alone.”

I did exactly that. With the weight off my shoulders, the paint started flowing again.

My work shifted… evolved. I couldn’t stop painting him, or more accurately, the contradiction that was Onyx—the calm in his touch, the violence simmering just behind his eyes, the rare softness I caught when he looked at me like I was more than just some beautiful woman in a messy world.

He called it obsession. I called it inspiration.

We had date nights. We took long drives where the city lights blurred behind the windshield and my laugh echoed in the car like music.

There were nights where we stayed in, tangled on my couch with wine, laughter, and stolen kisses between sips.

He’d press his nose into my neck and tell me I smelled like peace.

One night, he leaned over my shoulder while I painted and whispered, “Every time you pick up a brush, I swear I see a little more of your fire come back.”

And it was true. Being with him didn’t dull me. It amplified me.

But even with all that… I still knew something was under the surface with him, something he hadn’t told me.

There were shadows in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking and little silences when certain topics came up. His past lingered like smoke… visible, thick, but never fully explained.

Still, I didn’t press. Not yet. Because whatever secrets he carried, I knew one thing for certain: Onyx showed up for me in ways that no one else ever had. And I was starting to believe he wouldn’t stop until he could call me his.

Onyx told me it was date night and to be ready.

I looked down at the mess of my closet. It had exploded into my bedroom.

Dresses were everywhere. Hangers dangled off the edge of the bed.

My phone was wedged between my shoulder and ear.

Sade’s voice ran wild in my ear like she was right there with me.

“Girl, you act like this is prom night,” she teased. “It’s a date, not the Met Gala.”

“It’s not just a date,” I said, tossing another dress onto the no pile. “It’s Onyx.”

“Ohhh,” she drawled. “So you trying to be unforgettable tonight, huh?”

“I’m trying not to overthink it.”

“Too late. You’re a Virgo, baby. You were born to overthink.” She laughed at herself.

I paused in front of the mirror, holding up a navy green dress that Sade had sworn by. The fabric had the softest sheen under the light, its draped plunge neckline falling just right, the back completely exposed.

“That’s the one,” she said before I even spoke. “Trust me.”

“Okay. Navy green it is.”

I slipped into the dress, pairing it with black red bottoms and delicate gold earrings.

My hair was pulled into an up-do, sleek with just two curled tendrils framing my face.

My makeup was soft and dewy with light foundation, lip liner, and gloss.

It was simple, classic me. By the time I was spritzing on my perfume, the knock came.

“Alright, boo,” Sade said. “Remember, do everything I would do and then some.”

I laughed. “I hate you.”

“You love me. Bye!”

I hung up just as I made my way to the front door. When I opened it, the air shifted.

There he was—tall, dark, and effortless.

He had a fresh cut. His beard was lined like a damn painting.

That gold chain around his neck glinted under the porch light.

His shirt hugged just enough of him to make me bite my lip.

His tattoos peeked out from the collar and sleeves like they had secrets of their own.

His eyes scanned me, slow and reverent. “Damn…”

I felt his fingers wrap around my hand before he pulled me into him.

His cologne hit me in the chest so woody, warm, and masculine.

I rested my head against him for a second, just breathing him in.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and the simple gesture made me feel safer than any lock ever could.

“You look,” he started but stopped like the words couldn’t do it justice, “fantastic, Desire. Are you ready?”

I nodded, locking the door behind us.

We slid into his car, and the drive was quiet in the best way. His hand stayed on my thigh, thumb moving in slow circles that made my skin hum. The city passed in blurs of neon and night, but his presence kept me grounded.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, I smiled internally.

It was a rooftop lounge, dimly lit with candles, strings of soft lights wrapped around wooden beams, and the city skyline wrapping around us like a backdrop to our story.

The hostess led us to a private table tucked in a corner. A violinist played in the distance.

Onyx pulled my chair out for me. “Only the best for you.”

Dinner was intimate. We shared plates and fed each other bites between laughter and flirtation. His voice was velvet when he leaned in to ask questions about my art, and his gaze never left mine when I answered.

“So when you paint, is it always from emotion or sometimes imagination?”

“Both,” I said. “Sometimes, what I imagine is just the feeling I’m too scared to say out loud.”

His smile was subtle. “That’s why I love your work. You say the shit people don’t have the guts to admit.”

After dessert and wine, he helped me from my chair, hand slipping around my lower back as we made our way out. But instead of heading home, he drove us somewhere else.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He parked in front of My Desires . My eyebrows pinched together.

“Why are we here?”

He didn’t answer. He just took my hand and led me inside.

The moment we stepped in, I stopped. The entire main room had been transformed.

White tarp covered the floors, and in the center of it were blank canvases, buckets of body-safe paint in every color, and two plush robes draped over chairs.

Candles flickered along the walls and soft music hummed from the speakers.

“You did this?” I asked breathlessly.

“I want to be a part of what you love,” he said, walking behind me. His arms slipped around my waist. “You gave me a piece of your mind through your art. I wanna give you a piece of mine through this.”

I turned in his arms, looking up at him. “You think we’re gonna paint each other with body paint?”

“That’s the idea.” He chuckled.

“That’s messy,” I stated.

He smirked. “That’s the point.”

I couldn’t help the grin that split my face.

“You always surprise me,” I said.

“That’s the goal.”

As I stood there, surrounded by color, light, and a man who made peace feel like poetry, I realized something. I’d been so used to surviving I didn’t know what it felt like to simply live.

But tonight, I was ready to live… and I wanted to do it with him.