My Art and My Mistress

So I'm an artist, you know? I've been doing this for years, always painting and sketching the female form. One day, I met her, let's call her Eve. She's in her mid-twenties, gorgeous with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes. We hit it off instantly over our shared love of art and she started modeling for me regularly. Everything was good until one evening, when we were deep into a session, she made a proposition, something about how I had captured so much of her in my paintings that now she wanted to be my muse physically as well. 'What's the point if you can't make real art with a real body?' She said it all so casually but with an intensity that made me nervous and excited at the same time. So, we started seeing each other, or rather, I should say, she saw me. It was never about love for her; it was purely transactional. Every session was an exploration of my creative desires through physical acts. She would ask me what I wanted to paint next and then embody that persona in the most vividly detailed ways imaginable. It's gotten so intense that sometimes, just after she leaves, I'll lay there for hours staring at the wall, replaying every detail, from her skin brushing against mine when we're naked together, down to the specific sounds and movements during sex that mimic the fluid brushstrokes I love in my art. And yet, despite all this...she's never really been interested in hearing about my work or seeing what inspires me outside of us. Isn't it ironic? The person who drives my creative urges so much isn’t someone I share any real personal connection with. It feels like there's a part of me that will always be missing until we can bridge this gap between passion and intimacy, but until then, her body remains the ultimate canvas for my art.