Chapter 32 Gifts in Plain Sight （Eden）
GIFTS IN PLAIN SIGHT (EDEN)
Iwake to muscle and weight caging me in. Nate’s sprawled half on top of me, one arm heavy at my waist, his leg thrown across mine. The bed across the hall sits untouched—not like he gave me the option last night.
I’m pinned exactly where he put me: my back molded to his chest, his breath at my neck.
“Stop thinking so loud,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
“I wasn’t,” I lie. “I was wondering how long before someone barges in and finds me in your bed.”
His arm tightens, palm pressing flat to my stomach.
“Everyone knows you’re in my bed, Trouble.
And if I read the room right—except for Leo—they’re cheering us on.
” His laugh is low, wicked, as he rolls on top of me, his weight settling me deeper into the mattress.
His cock presses hard against me, insistent.
“They’re probably even betting how long before you have your way with me. ”
My pulse flutters, but instead of backing down, I lean into the fire. “You think they also know you blindfolded me last night and made me beg?”
A growl vibrates in his chest. His attention cuts sharp as sunlight. “Careful, baby.” His cock slides against me, teasing, dipping just inside, wet slick between us both.
“Why?” I feign innocence, sliding my foot along the line of his calf to pull him in. “Think Mama Russo would disapprove?”
His laugh is dark, sinful. “Are you being a brat, Trouble? You know what bad girls get?” His palm cracks against my ass, playful but firm, sending a jolt straight to my core. I grind back into him, shameless, pulling him deeper.
I bite my lip, fire spiking at the promise. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want to get me through today.”
His hand grips my hip, possessive, commanding. “Then show me.” He thrusts, sliding in slow and deep, circling his hips until my breath breaks.
Voices float up from downstairs, children squealing in excitement.
“Atrocious timing,” he groans, sinking his teeth into my collarbone. “Can you be quiet?”
I nod, though we both know better. His hand covers my mouth, and my body shudders at the control—his palm stealing my sounds, his weight stealing my breath. My head swims, a rush of surrender and need so desperate, I can’t think past it.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he growls against my ear, rough and tender all at once. “Want it hard and fast, baby?”
I nod again, helpless. He drives into me, hips slamming against mine, every thrust making me cry out into his hand. Full. Claimed. Overrun. My orgasm tears through me, muscles clenching around him until he groans, pace breaking.
He empties himself into me with a hiss, forehead pressed to mine, chanting rough, reverent things I can’t catch, only feel: my name, baby, Trouble, mine.
And beneath it all, the laughter and chaos of Christmas morning float up from below, a reminder that any second, the whole house could’ve caught us, yet none of that matters when he’s this deep inside me, when I need him so completely that waiting wasn’t even an option.
Eventually, I peel myself out of Nate’s grip, slipping on my sweater and tugging my hair into something resembling order. My room is across the hall, and if I’m lucky, I can sneak in without anyone noticing.
I crack open the door, check both ways. Quiet.
I’m halfway across when I hear steps.
My stomach drops. Ryan appears at the landing, coffee mug in hand, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His focus flicks straight from me to the open door behind me—Nate sprawled naked across the sheets.
His mouth curves slow and wicked. “Well, well, well. Merry Christmas to me. You two could’ve cracked a window—place reeks of sex. Leo comes sniffing around, he’s gonna lose his mind.”
Shame burns my throat. Not for being with Nate, but for wanting him so desperately that I couldn’t wait until we were alone. I manage a glare. “Go get a hobby, Ryan.”
He takes a leisurely sip of coffee, smirk deepening. “Got one. It’s called enjoying the afterglow radiating off my little sister. Better wash that flush off your cheeks before Leo comes up for his mitts and bag and sees you.”
“Ryan—” I hiss.
From the bed, Nate’s voice cuts in, calm and amused, “Move along, man.”
Ryan barks a laugh. “No can do. This is the best show I’ve had all week.” He steps past me toward the gym. “Don’t forget to hydrate, kids. Gotta replenish those fluids.”
I shove past him toward my door, mortification burning hot enough to ignite. His chuckle follows me into my room.
I slam my door shut, back pressed against the wood, temperature climbing all the way up my neck. God. Could I die from mortification?
A low knock comes almost immediately. “Trouble.”
I crack it open enough to see Nate leaning in the doorway, still bare-chested, still smug as sin.
“Told you,” he drawls. “They know.”
My glare is weak at best. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
His mouth tilts slow, wolfish. “Damn right I am. Watching you blush because they caught you in my bed? Hottest thing I’ve seen all week.”
I groan, covering my face. “I hate you.”
He hooks a finger under my chin, pulling my attention up. His expression is molten, softer under the tease. “No, baby. You don’t.” He brushes his thumb over my lower lip, then steps back, satisfaction still tugging at his mouth. “Get dressed. Santa’s waiting.”
And just like that, he disappears into his room, leaving me flustered, trembling, and nowhere near ready to face Christmas morning.
Wrapping paper carpets the floor. Antonio works the room with a garbage bag while Janice snaps photos and a remote-control car chews the rug.
“Who gave a two-year-old a drum?” Ryan shouts over the din. “Reveal yourself so I can ruin your life before breakfast.”
“That would be me,” Antonio calls from the kitchen doorway, pleased with himself. “The boy needs rhythm.”
“He needs a mute button,” Ryan deadpans, diving to save a vase from a fly-by Nerf arrow. He’s still wearing his gym shorts and that satisfied expression from upstairs, the one that says he’s got enough blackmail material to last him a decade.
I plant myself on the arm of the sofa next to Mom and Janice, pretending my face isn’t still warm from earlier. Mom squeezes my hand; her attention is soft, curious, far too perceptive. Janice beams at me, then at Nate across the room, humming under her breath.
Nate’s claimed the armchair near the window, all long legs and easy confidence.
He’s been drafted into assembly duty: a plastic castle sprawls at his feet, instructions in his lap, a five-year-old supervisor dictating turret placement with the authority of a union foreman.
Nate doesn’t roll his expression once. He listens, nods, clicks pieces into place with steady hands, and the kid stares at him with open adoration.
Nate looks up from his task periodically, his focus finding me. It hits every time, a low thud under my ribs, the same one that started last night and never backed off.
Leo waits at the edge of the room, nursing one of those “clean” protein shakes—Naked, Pure, whatever marketing cooked up this week.
The label is shredded in his hand. He doesn’t talk; he tallies.
Ryan keeps drifting across his sightline, the human version of a privacy screen, but Leo doesn’t need the angle.
His jaw is sharp enough to slice granite.
“Stockings are done, now presents,” Janice sings, clapping once. “Kids first. Grown-ups, refill your coffees. We’ll need it.”
The living room detonates into more chaos.
Ryan provides colorful commentary while Antonio bellows from the kitchen about not using the oven mitt as a puppet.
Through all of it, there’s a hum under my skin that has nothing to do with caffeine.
I’m aware of the little wrapped box, the one I told myself I’d give Nate after everything calmed down.
There’s no after here, only now. Christmas doesn’t pause so a girl can compose herself.
“Alright,” Janice declares, once the youngest have reached sugar-high equilibrium. “Adults. We go in order. Eden, honey, you start.”
Every head swivels; the room drops a decibel. They’ve been clocking us since yesterday, and now they’re waiting for the show.
I stand, legs steadier than I feel, fish the small box from under the tree, and cross to Nate. “Merry Christmas.”
A hush settles. It’s not silence, because the kids don’t get the memo, but it’s close.
Nate leans in, takes the box, and peels off the paper with infuriating patience.
Inside: a braided black leather bracelet, a slim strip of silver at the clasp engraved with a single small star.
He stares at it before shifting his focus to me.
Ryan whistles. “Well, well. Somebody upgraded from string.”
Meghan elbows him. “Be nice.”
“I am being nice,” he says, absolutely lying. “I’m thrilled. This is a holiday miracle. Our girl finally got tired of friendship bracelets and moved into grown-up inventory.”
“Ryan.” Mom’s voice holds warning and pride in equal measure.
Nate lifts the second thing from the box.
It’s a frame, with the photo of the four of us inside.
Leo and Ryan are tossing a football, two skinny showoffs frozen mid-argument about rules.
I’m on the step of the old boardwalk stairs, smiling straight at the camera, hair wild, knees scuffed.
Nate’s in the foreground, not centered, caught mid-turn with his smile pointed somewhere off-frame.
Someone must have called his name and snapped at the exact moment his focus chased whatever he loved.
Janice’s hand flies to her chest. “Oh, my heart. Look at those babies.”
Antonio steps in behind her, peering over her shoulder. “We still have that football,” he says, too proud of this fact. “It’s in storage. No one throws it near windows.”
“That rule was written for Ryan,” Leo says flatly.
“And you, mister,” Janice adds without looking up. “Don’t think I forgot the Great Lamp Disaster of 2009.”