More than a muse 🎨

She's a natural🎨

You gulped hard at his comment, attempting to avoid eye contact. Your mind buzzed with too many thoughts to pin one down and you began searching your brain for words.
"Ed... I..."
"Come on (y/n) you don't have to explain yourself to me..." he reminded you.
Thank the lord

He raised his hand, resting his palm on your cheek, his fingers carefully hooking your jawbone and lifted your chin gently until your eyes connected. You blushed and he noticed, lifting his other hand slowly and sliding it around your waist, stopping at your lower back. With his middle finger, he rubbed circles into the dip with painfully light pressure.

Your breathing became heavy, almost a pant, as he stared into your lustful eyes with his lips slightly parted. There were inches between you. Ed slid one hand from your face to the back of your neck and into your hair, he selected a single strand and twirled it around one of his fingers. He studied you silently for a moment. Then suddenly he took both hands away, holding them up as if to plead innocence. He widened his eyes and smirked playfully, moving his hands behind his back as if he were handcuffed.
"Keeping my hands to myself, see, self control..." he mumbled, chuckling. He liked to tease, but all in good faith, he was practising self control and demonstrating that at any moment he could disconnect and that was new, but reassuring to you. However it did get tedious and he could tell you were constantly struggling with your next move.

"Eddie..." you whimpered at the loss of touch, feeling cold and deprived. Why was it that the one man you wanted more than anyone was able to hold back, yet the ones who you felt sick at the sight of would run their hands over you like it was nothing, like you were nothing.

Ed saw the flash of euphoria leave your eyes almost instantly as he attempted to lighten the mood, he couldn't help but admire the look of longing on your face from an artistic standpoint but stopped to address your emotions.
"Sweetheart..." he whispered, regaining your attention. He sat back into the chair he'd pulled out to sit opposite you,
"Comparison is the thief of joy." He was right. He knew every time he touched you it was bittersweet, you hadn't had any positive experiences with men other than Ed, no positive experiences at all sexually. There was no point comparing, he was so very different. You needed a clean slate, a new start.
"You are in control, your past doesn't define you." You hummed in agreeance, his words were music to your ears.
"... and you don't need to whimper, when- If the time comes and you want... more from me... just use your words."

Shocked by his words but settled by his low, calming voice you laid back onto the sofa with a sigh, overwhelmed. You considered it for a moment. You trusted him, more than anyone... but before you could give him an answer he stood up and edged towards his easel, hinting heavily that as much as he could sit and talk to you forever, he so desperately wanted to continue and eventually finish his painting. He side eyed you, cautiously picking up his brush and waiting for your permission to continue.
"Stop pussy footing." you chuckled, "Just get on with it Eddie, I know, the light" you mocked.
"You do know." He smiled, quickly popping back to place a kiss on your forehead. You were faced with his bare chest as his oversized jacket brushed over your shoulders with the quick motion.

His smelt like paint and coffee.

Flustered, but able to hide it, you casually rolled your eyes and leaned back into the position he desired.
"Perfect." he purred, forever grateful that you needed little to no instruction when it came to posing, you were a natural.