Disclaimer: I don't own The Fast and the Furious, Fast & Furious or any of its characters, merchandise, TV/film rites, ect… (I think you get the point.)

Summary

DRABBLE COLLECTION – Which is the greater number, one or five? The five separate digits or the one hand you hold? Or maybe they're all strong in their own way. – For fivealive123


Six

One hand – for you to hold on to and know that I will never let you go.

The sun is bleeding to death in the evening sky, flooding the heavens with vivid patches of gold and crimson, some eventually darkening to a cool purple as the evening draws in. Birds returning to their nests are black arrowheads against the red backdrop and the mottled sky is like a child's colouring book, layers of colour splashed brilliantly one on top of the other

The room is bathed in a warm honey glow and the air is hot and heavy all around them. She is lying on her back, her head comfortably pillowed on his chest while she stares unseeingly up at the fan spinning lazily on the ceiling. It is almost unbearably hot and she can feel the sweat collect and pool between their bodies but can't bring herself to move. She's too content.

They are in a cheep hotel, somewhere along the cost of Puerto Rico, but she thinks that perhaps they are really in heaven. It's just the two of them, the sun and the sound of the sea and his hands running over her as if it were for the first time. Not that she minded, far from it. She has heard people talk about how relationships can turn stale, become monotonous, but it is never like that with them. There always seems to be something new for her discover with him and he still finds it hard to keep his hands off of her.

"I think…" He says slowly, his voice thick and heavy as he traces the lines across her palm. "I'm in love with your hands."

"What?" She questions, and finally finds the motivation to move. But only so that she can roll onto her stomach, drape herself over him and see his face. And somehow he's managed to keep a hold on her hand.

He's drunk she knows that, he has to be for him to be talking in such a way. Completely intoxicated. Idly she wonders if maybe he's a little stoned too, but then decides that she just doesn't really care one way or the other because her skin tingles when he drags his thumbnail along her lifeline.

"I said I'm in love with your hands." He makes it sound like the most natural thing in the world. As if her hands where perfect rather than callused and work worn with oil under her nails that she can't get rid of no matter how hard she scrubs.

He lifts her hands to his lips, and kisses one then the other, licking, nipping and sucking. Slowly he makes love to her right hand and then her left. He bites lightly on the tip of one, grazes his teeth over the pad of another and all the time his eyes never leave hers.

His hands slide down the curve of her back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine before coming to rest on the perfect curve of her behind. He strokes her legs, behind her knees, her calves, and the sureness of his caress lighting her with desire. The feel of his hands on her has always been one of the greatest aphrodisiacs she has ever known. Hands with clever, nimble fingers that know her so well, better than any other ever could. He's always so sure of himself, so confident that his touch will please.

His fingers trace circles lazily around her belly, up to her breasts, just missing the nipples each time so that they strain with added anticipation. Slowly, so slowly she succumbs to the method as he captures her with his rhythm, a circular, hypnotic motion, tracing lightly, then in a gradually deepening touch on her body.

It is always so impossible to think clearly when he touches her like this. With his focus solely on her it is as if nothing in the world exists beyond the feel of him. Sometimes she almost thinks she will die if he goes any further, just self-combust and turn to fire and ash. She can feel the white hot fire spiralling from the centre of her being, and almost screams from the force of it. He holds on to her and swallows the exquisite sounds that tumble from her lips as she falls apart in his arms.

"Never let me go?" He breaths the question softly into her hair, even as she is struggling to get her pounding heart and shuddering breath under control.

"Never." She shifts so that she can kiss the word against his mouth, so that he can taste the truth behind the promise.

"You swear?" * he can feel the aftershocks running through her body

"Dom," She raises his hand to her mouth, pitch black eyes fever bright locking with his, and presses her lips to his palm. "You can shut me out and push me away and I swear I still won't go anywhere."


(A/N) And you all thought it was over with the fifth one… well it's over now. But I have another drabble collection in the works, though I have no idea what to call it, so suggestions would be welcome. I hope you all enjoyed this final part and thanks for all the support, you Dotty fans rule.

Lamanth xx