"Turn it off.

No light.

Just feel."

Rain hit the glass, slow and soft

Her voice? Didn’t need it — clothes came off

She pulled my hand like she’d done it before

Then backed me into her hotel door

No one spoke. Not one sound.

Only breath, skin, body heat, now

I bit my lip, she watched me break

My knees hit sheets. I didn’t shake.

Didn’t say stop. Didn’t say please.

She knew the switch — and she touched with ease.

She turned the lights off first

Let her mouth show me instead

She never kissed — she bit

Then whispered near my head

My hands were shaking still

Her hips just pressed me flat

No words. Just heat.

No room for looking back.

Her nails dragged slow down my spine

She pulled me open, one line at a time

Breath on my neck, hands under lace

She didn’t ask — just took her place

I tried to speak, lost the words

She said, “shhh,” and it almost hurt

My pulse was loud. My voice was gone.

And god, I let it all go on

She knew the dark was where I bend

She took her time and split the end

She turned the lights off first

And burned the air between

No name, no rules — just want

No lines to keep us clean

Cold sheets, hot sin

No need to make it right

Her lips said nothing

But her hands said “mine” tonight

No eyes. Just nails.

No light. Just sweat.

No guilt. Just us.

Don’t ask. Don’t forget.

She turned the lights off first

But I still feel her skin

She left the room at dawn

But I’m still trapped within

No lips. No calls.

But I still hear her breath

We didn’t fall in love…

We just undressed to death.

“Don’t turn it on.

You’ll see too much.”