"You got it, Pavlova," Sawyer breathed, the instruction all the push he needed to lean in until his lips captured her own. He'd spent time actively trying not to think about this, about the possibility of a kiss, of something more, because of the countless uncertainties, and he went in without any expectations. Was surprised by the soft touch of her lips, if only because he hadn't tried to imagine them at all. His breath left him in a deep exhale, almost a growl on the tip of his tongue as his left hand brushed up her side and came to a rest by her neck, calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin there. His right arm took the liberty of wrapping around her waist, but did not pull her to him yet.

Because the last thing he wanted to do was overstep, even if in some ways, he suspected that he already had.

Her hair fell over her hand, strands tickling his skin, and Sawyer allowed his lips to part, tongue sweeping over her lip and pressing until it traced the edge of her teeth. She tasted like something sweet, but tart. Pineapple, possibly.