Chapter 2

Emma’s POV

The salty sea air whipped through my hair as I stepped aboard the luxurious yacht, the “Yultide Dream,” was docked in the bustling harbor.

I’d managed to secure a last-minute gig from a shady online ad. I was to serve drinks to wealthy holiday travelers on a week-long Christmas cruise. At least it came with accommodation; a cramped cabin bunk, three square meals, and a paycheck that might cover a deposit on a new place. No more sleeping on park benches or crashing in abandoned cars.

As the yacht pulled away from shore, I couldn’t help but shake the emptiness I felt inside. My thoughts drifted back to Mark’s betrayal, his cock buried balls-deep in that slut’s cunt, their moans echoing in my mind like a twisted soundtrack.

Fuck, why did it make me wet even now? I squeezed my thighs together, feeling the dampness in my panties as I reported for duty in the main lounge.

I was handed my uniform, a complete joke of a skimpy red elf outfit that hugged my curves like a second skin. The short skirt barely covered my ass, and the low-cut top pushed my C-cups into a mouthwatering cleavage that jiggled with every step.

“Perfect for tips,” the captain leered, his eyes lingering on my hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric.

I forced a smile, grabbing a rag to polish the crystal glasses behind the bar. The lounge was filling up with guests: tipsy socialites in glittering gowns, horny businessmen eyeing the staff like fresh meat.

Christmas carols played softly, but the vibe was anything but innocent—couples already grinding on the dance floor, hands wandering under skirts and into pants.

And that’s when I saw her.

Brittany fucking Harlow, striding in like she owned the place, her arm was linked with an older man’s.

My hand froze, the glass I held nearly slipping from my grip.

Brittany—the queen bitch from high school who’d made my life a living hell. Back then, Brittany was deepthroating the quarterback while his girlfriend waited outside. She’d bullied me very often, calling me “flat-chested prude” in front of everyone, once even pantsing me in the cafeteria to expose my plain cotton panties to roaring laughter. I had fantasized about revenge for years, maybe spiking her drink or fucking her boyfriend right in front of her.

But this Brittany? She looked… different, wearing a conservative green dress that fell to her knees, her once-dyed hair now a natural auburn pulled into a neat bun. No heavy makeup, just a demure smile as she sipped a virgin cocktail, chatting politely with the man beside her. No sign of the girl who’d flash her shaved pussy under the bleachers or ride the principal’s son in the school parking lot, moaning loud enough to get suspended.

I shifted my eyes to the man—tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a jawline that could cut glass. I could smell power all over him, his tailored suit straining against his muscular chest, and when he laughed, his deep voice sent a shiver straight to my clit.

Who was he?

Brittany called him “Daddy” in a sweet, innocent tone, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

My mind reeled.

Daddy? As in… her father?

Holy shit.

Mr. Harlow- Richard Harlow, the rich asshole who’d donated half the school’s gym just to keep his daughter’s scandals quiet. I had seen him at several parent-teacher nights, always eyeing the young teachers like potential fucks.

A wicked idea sparked in my mind then. Revenge on Brittany? What better way than to seduce her daddy—fucking him senseless, and making him beg for my tight pussy while his precious daughter slept nearby.

I imagined it: Richard pinning me against the yacht’s railing, his thick cock slamming into me from behind under the stars, my moans muffled by the crashing waves. I’d make him cum so hard he’d forget his own name, and then whisper in his ear how his little girl used to be the school’s cum-dumpster. The thought made my nipples ache, my pussy clenching as I rubbed my thighs together behind the bar.

I watched them closely, polishing the same glass over and over. Richard’s hand rested possessively on Brittany’s lower back, but his eyes wandered, locking onto my cleavage as I bent over to restock the shelves, my skirt riding up to flash the curve of my ass. He adjusted his pants subtly, and I smirked inwardly.

Bingo.

I could see the outline of a massive bulge straining against his zipper, thick and long, probably veined. Brittany went to the dance floor, leaving him alone at the table with a half-empty scotch.

I didn’t let the opportunity waste, sauntering over to him with a fresh drink on my tray, my hips swaying seductively. “Refill, sir?” I purred, leaning in close enough for him to smell my perfume—and catch a glimpse down my top, where my breasts heaved with each breath.

Richard’s gaze darkened, devouring me like a starving man. “Make it a double,” he rumbled with a voice like gravel. As I handed her my empty glass, his fingers brushed mine, sending electric sparks to my core. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

I batted my lashes, my mind racing with filthy plans. “Maybe in another life,” I teased, imagining dropping to my knees under the table right there, unzipping him and swallowing his cock whole while guests mingled around us. I’d bob my head, gagging on his girth, saliva dripping down my chin as he gripped my hair and face-fucked me until he exploded down my throat.

Revenge would taste so sweet.

By the end of the night, as the yacht sailed into the moonlit ocean, I knew my plot was set. I’d seduce Richard Harlow, fuck him raw in every position, drain his balls until he was addicted to my body.

And when Brittany found out? The look on her face would be priceless.

I slipped a hand under my skirt in the privacy of my cabin later, fingering my slick folds furiously, cumming hard to the visions of Richard’s cock stretching me wide, his grunts mixing with my screams.

This cruise was about to get very, very merry.