Page 9 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)

Eavesdropping

KEIR

I turned in soon after Ingrid, hoping we’d beat everyone else up in the morning if we got some shut-eye. I wanted to get one-on-one time with her. Everyone was still drinking with no signs of stopping. I blamed Duncan and Leah for whipping everyone up publicly, but more than likely, it was the Danes who were the issue. Crown Princess Edina stayed in town with one of the Swedes and returned after everyone else.

I wandered towards the shared lavatory to clean my teeth. As I did, I heard a noise and stopped. It sounded like someone was hurt. Then, I realised that wasn’t it at all. It was a moan . A woman moaning . I made a mental note of who was still above deck. The only person down here was Ingrid.

I debated whether I should go or stay. It was voyeuristic to stick around. The place wasn’t well soundproofed. She moaned again—louder. I could hear her panting as I stood outside the door. My cock stiffened, a bad thing given I was wearing sleep bottoms, and it was now very apparent I had a massive hard-on. I shouldn’t listen, but I couldn’t walk away.

She had to get off because I tortured her. I debated knocking and interrupting. Was it so wrong to offer my services? I set it aside because I knew better. Secretly, I enjoyed listening to her bring herself closer and closer to the point of inevitability, knowing she was fantasising about what I could do to her.

The idea of it made me even hornier. I rubbed my swollen cock over my pants, torturing myself.

“ Mmmmm…. oh, ouais ,” Ingrid moaned—all too loudly.

She’d cum. It was a beautiful sound. I’d brought her pleasure even if I never laid a hand on her. Now, all I wanted to do was to be inside her and listen to her scream my name. I knew I could do it if I tried.

“Fuck… I needed that,” she said aloud.

I smiled. She needed a lot more. And I was about to think about that as I dashed to the head. I leaned against the wall over the toilet with one hand, gripping my shaft in the other. I thought about fucking her from behind, my hands gripping her arse hard. Then, in mere seconds, I came, thinking about cumming all over her back. I longed to make a massive mess and then wipe the tip of my dick on her ass. That would be altogether satisfying.

Finished and calm, I turned to my nighttime routine, packed up my shaving kit, and returned to bed.

I woke mid-morning to a quiet ship and headed up on deck. To my surprise, Ingrid sat cross-legged, looking at boats on the horizon, with a sketchpad in her lap. A floppy hat nearly covered her face, shielding her as she drew.

“You draw?” I asked.

Ingrid didn’t turn as she answered. “I do. I spent several years taking art classes at the institute in town after being granted my freedom from my evil grandmother. I’m not terrible, not wonderful.”

“You do it because you love it?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel that way about photography,” I said.

“Really? ”

I nodded. “But no one ever lets me take photos. So, I mostly take pictures out of plane windows. People think I’m odd, I’m sure.”

Ingrid turned to me and giggled. “You are, but that’s fine.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help but adore her laugh. It was only second to the sound of her absolute ecstasy from the night before. I debated telling her I’d heard her. I knew I needed to appreciate this bonding moment and let it go. I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. She was so natural and free out here drawing the boats.

“I like how you are drawing their sails,” I said.

“The rigging matters, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. It looks good.”

“I did take a creative liberty or two. I drew this little guy aloft.”

I was surprised she knew what aloft meant. That wasn’t a word most non-sailors knew.

“Aloft? Do you sail?”

“I do with Rick,” I said.

Ah, Rick the Prick .

The Prince Consort of Neandia rehabilitated his status over the years, but when he was my age, most of the royal women in Europe dubbed him Rick the Prick. He had a bad reputation for womanising, drinking too much, and behaving like a prick, and it stuck even now. He still competed in summer sailing competitions with his father and brother.

“Do you?” She asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. I go out with my brothers anytime we can.”

“We compete against them,” I heard Lars say.

He was there with two cups of coffee.

“As promised, no sugar, just cream,” Lars sat one mug down next to Ingrid.

I wanted to glare at him but kept my cool. The bastard managed to get up before me? And now he was moving in? Impossible!

“Oh, thanks, Lars,” Ingrid said sweetly.

“Friendly competition,” I added.

“Yes, because we will always win,” Lars countered. “The Norwegian teams are world-class. The Brits cannot keep up. You’ve seen us race, Ingrid. ”

He invoked familiarity now. Lars was better at this than I anticipated.

“And yet I’ve beaten you,” I said. “Cute, that.”

Over her coffee, Ingrid asked, “How is it then… growing up under one roof as enemies?”

After she took a long sip, Lars and I stared at one another, unsure what to say.

“We are friends,” Lars said. “But there is always a healthy competition.”

“The twins are closer to the Norsk family,” I said. “They grew up in Oslo with Mamma. Then, there is Betty.”

“Betty is the one we all love most of all,” Lars admitted. “She’s our mascot, Pappa says. She’s the one who brought us together in a way we never anticipated.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because his father got mom pregnant when I was twelve,” I groaned. “And then we were all stuck together.”

“They were engaged when it happened, Keir. C’mon,” Lars said in Norsk.

Technically, it was true, but I wouldn't say I liked it. I hated feeling that a man I’d considered to be an excellent friend of the family moved in on my mother, Sanne, after Dad died. I still missed my father every day. While Lars’s father, Peder, was a good man and always stood by us, I’d never quite gotten over how the whole thing went down.

“Betty is a doll, and I’m not casting stones about unplanned pregnancies.”

Ingrid understood that much. The word for engaged in Norwegian and Lundhansk was the same. The more I learned of her, the more drawn I became to this clever woman.

“She is,” I agreed. “And Peder continued to teach me to sail after Dad passed away. He got Nate and me out of a massive slump. We owe him lots of gratitude.”

“Pappa loves them, too,” Lars said. “But no one loves everyone as much as Sanne.”

“Not even your mother?” Ingrid laughed.

“Nei,” we chuckled in unison .

“My mother is a fucking nightmare,” Lars said. “Sanne is a patient angel in comparison. And her mother took me as a grandson. Sanne is the best stepmother I could ask for.”

“You have good families. That is nice,” Ingrid said, focusing again on her drawing.

“I forget,” I said. “You don’t have any living parents. I’m sorry if?—”

Ingrid looked over at me, then patted my knee. “It’s okay. I appreciate you thinking about it, but I don’t remember ever having parents. It’s much harder for Asti and Alex. I’m grateful for my sisters and Rick. They’re always there for me. Cici’s parents are close to becoming extended family. You all are wonderfully warm.”

“Funny to ever hear anyone say that about Norwegians.” I joked.

“Not really,” Lars said. “You are too kind. Much like my aunt.”

“Kiersten?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Warm, bubbly, clever.”

Ingrid gave me complete eye contact. “Clever? No one has ever called me that.”

I smiled. “Yeah, clever, of course. It’s a shame no one says that. You’re quite witty and smart to pick up on things.”

Ingrid blushed and turned back to her drawing. She said nothing, but her reaction said everything. I was winning her over. Indeed, she already won me over. It wasn’t the big blue eyes. It wasn’t the complete look of her. It was the comebacks, the willingness to make me uncomfortable, and now this—her artistic vulnerability.