She tilts her head back slightly, keeping her mouth in a tantalizingly close proximity, but the sensation of his fingers sliding into her hair reels her back in, her own curling a little reflexively against his jacket before she leans in fully. His voice is a purr against her mouth, the vibration punctuated by a nipping, a capture of her lip between the both of his, and Ellen falls, her self-resolve weakening. If this can be constituted as making the first move, she's guilty as charged, and her arms wind around his neck as she finally draws herself close to him, pressing the length of her body against him, a tilt of her hips corresponding with the full press of her lips to his, slow and deep.