A/N: First Law & Order: SVU fic, as well as first POSTED fic told in first person. Inspired by Jake Owen's song, "Alone With You." If you don't hate country music, you should definitely check it out :)

Disclaimer: Just borrowing these lovely ladies.

When she knocks on my door, I know I shouldn't open it. I know what lies behind it, what always follows. But I can't stop myself. I pull the door open, leaving it swinging on hits hinges.

"Hey,"

She looks immaculate, barring a few loose hairs and the distant look in her eyes. The slight sway in her stance and the smell are what gives her away. She reeks of alcohol. The harsh scent mixes with her strawberry shampoo and a smell that can be nothing but her.

I know I should send her away. She drunk, and clearly not in full possession of her faculties, but I can't bring myself to do it. I have never sent her away before and I can't start now. I'm too far gone.

With a grin, she closes the distance between us and plants a sloppy kiss on my lips. She tastes like scotch. I can't help wondering why it's always scotch and why she needs so much of it to see me. Why she sneaks around at one in the morning, throwing my existence out of balance.

I know I should pull away, but I can't. I want it and she knows it. No matter how much I wish I could say I wasn't, I was hers to control. I had lost all power over myself the moment I heard the sound of knuckles on my apartment door.

Pushing past me, she shoots a coy smile at me and leans against the living room wall. She says nothing. I know she wants me to initiate, for no other reason than the fact that she knows I will. She likes to see me trip over myself for her.

For once, she doesn't speak, doesn't whisper empty promises and oaths that will not be fulfilled. There is something off, something different from her usual presence.

I give her a once over. She is wearing tight black jeans, a tank top, and a light jacket. Her hair is left down. A light coat of makeup tarnishes her naturally beautiful features. A pair of killer heels, making her even taller than normal, tops off the outfit.

This style is so different from her during a workday; darker, more casual, yet there is still a sense of refinement. Regardless of whether she dresses up or dresses down, there is an air of togetherness throughout. The two personas seem to coincide peacefully, resulting in one hell of a woman.

In the time it takes for me to assess the situation, she's pulled off her shoes and drops them to the floor with a clatter. It gets my attention and rekindles my desire, blocking my ability to process thought.

I want her. She knows it. This is not the first time she has come and I know it won't be the last. I know I should send her away. I know what will happen, what always happens. Being alone with her is a bad idea, but I can't stop myself.

She is like a drug, a need.

After a particularly hard or trying case, it's the memories of these encounters that pull me though, and the prospect of future encounters that keeps me fighting the scum of New York.

Just as she knew I would, I rush forward, my arms finding their place on either side of her head, my body pinning her slighter one to the wall. Though it looks like I am the one in control, it is an illusion. She knows me too well, my desires and reactions, using them to her advantage.

My lips meet hers in a passionate kiss. I can't control myself, nor limit the amount of passion I am feeling. She smiles against my lips, victorious, as always. Perhaps that smugness comes from her job.

I don't mind, though, attorneys love to win, after all and she is an attorney.

But even if she weren't, I wouldn't object her competitive spirit. It is a part of her, something that makes her unique, that makes her, her.

She lets me kiss her for a while, giving back as much as I gave, before I feel her fingers teasing the hem of my shirt. I pull away, visibly shivering when her hands start to make it up my shirt.

Her mouth moves to my neck and I gasp at the sensations. She knows my desires better than I, knows how to wind me up and send me spinning out of control. Thought it terrifies me, giving up some of the control that I so desperately crave, my need for her supersedes my need for control.

I want her. I'm defenseless when it concerns her, and she knows it. She exploits it.

As her hands move higher, across my stomach and up my back, I bite my lip, trying to stop the noises. She is pushing me, testing my control over my needs and desires. When her hands sweep my sides, brushing my breasts, I moan her name. I immediately with I had more control over myself.

She is gone.

I don't need to open my eyes to know she's gone. The absence of her touch is physically painful. I let out a strangled sob, turning to look at the empty doorway. The door swings aimlessly on its hinge, indicating the fervor of her exit.

Resting my head against the wall, I clutch at my chest. It is not the first time she has left, but never before had her departure been so sudden or so resolute. It feels as if my soul itself is tearing itself in two.

She had never reacted so harshly to the sound of her own name. As the seconds ticked by, I could only wonder why she had bolted at my exclamation, coming to know conclusion.

There was something different, something I would not be able to identify or explain. The only thing I could distinguish between previous encounters and this one was the pain.

It hurts so much more than it ever has.

A/N: It ends on a sad note, but I was considering writing a sequel because I'm sappy and like happy endings. Let me know what you think!