Wind And Skirts Don't Mix Novels & Stories

“Sorry, I need to—-” He cut me off. “Just a minute.” Pursing my lips, I took a step toward him sighing in defeat. Fine, for the sake of our dirty big secret. Because it’s an open space, the wind blew to and fro. My hair’s still on the loose so it’s like I was facing a bunch of hair blowers from front to back because the wind’s blowing my waist-length hair everywhere! Terrible. The wind wasn’t that strong earlier, eh?

"Sure, why not?" Hours later. They went up to the rooftop with their coats/jackets on because it was a chilly day. The cold breeze tightly hugs their skin making goosebumps appear all over their arms. Emma's long wavy hair is getting swept by wind current but she still looks as lovely as ever. It's as if watching a shampoo commercial wherein the actress' soft hair never gets tangled no matter how strong the wind is. Zen stares at her amazed. Her black hair dances flawlessly in sync with the wind. It's like the wind is a paid actor— its job is to make Emma Claire the most beautiful woman ever in order to attract the lovestruck dude.

I shook it off and tried to regain my strength as I pulled the rooftop door open. Stepping my foot on the rooftop, I was greeted by the blustery wind, causing my pleated black skirt to dance with it. My hands immediately reached for it and tugged my skirt down to my thighs and put it in place. I moved further in the rooftop until I spotted only one person.

Coughing on smoke, Emma went to open a window before realizing there was no way to do so. And some of those habits really sucked. She moved to the front door instead, her hand hesitating on the knob before finally throwing the barrier open. The wind bit her face immediately, its cold strengthened by the lack of sun. Emma squinted against it and swung the door like a fan, letting the night air howl free through the space in exchange for dispersing the smoke. She was out of breath, her arms sore, by the time the blackness inside was finally gone. Even so, a trace of the burnt smell stuck to everything. Taking one last look at the darkness past the threshold, Emma slowly closed the door and tur

The hilltop breeze that had once felt refreshing suddenly turned into a burning torment for Vivienne. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, racing against a heartbeat that felt as though it wanted to leap out of her chest. The casual dress she was wearing now clung to her body with sweat. Her thick legs, supporting her eighty-kilogram frame, were forced to keep moving, occasionally even breaking into a light run across the uneven stretch of grass. All of this was because Tristan's damn black-and-gold silk kite had suddenly snapped from its string.

As he increased the car speed by the minute, the force of the cold night breeze had my hair flying backwards and my tangled straight gown blowing up out of proportion. The gown was a flared one from the waist down to my mid thighs so my thighs were literally exposed each time the cloth blew up. Feeling so embarrassed and insecure, I placed my two hands on the cloth, pressing it down on my thighs so they would not blow up. Amidst all of these, Don Dada seemed to be enjoying the whole scene. I am pretty sure he stole glances at my thighs each time the gown went up and of course, he would be mesmerized, but while he would possibly be feeling that, I was disgusted at my end.

She whisper-shouted , bending down to scratch her right ankle through her stockings. "I mean, I've got this, so don't worry,"I reassured her, despite the painic inside of me. And that's when my eyes saw Leslie with a cluster of her equally annoying minions. Standing next to the bleachers talking heatedly amongst themselves was Leslie .The skirt she wore was like two years too small to conceal her butt cheeks as the lower potion of them peeked under it without shame. Same goes for her three minion buddies with poor fashion choice and big blonde hair were heavily laddened with intoxicating hairsprays. As Roxie would say, Pleated skirts are so last year.

The cloud was still dark as the sun was yet to rise. Strong winds were blowing, compelling Shirley's hair to dance to its rhythm. Occasionally, a few strands of her hair would move to cover her face and she would have to hurriedly tuck them in behind both her ears. It was a futile move because it soon moved to cover her face again when the wind blew past her again, making her repeat the process of trying to tuck strands of her hair behind her ears.

“No, too short. This isn’t for the club here. It’s supposed to be for when I take her out for a day event. I don’t want her being seen as a hooker. All skirts must be above the knee or longer.” “But she’s so short this makes her look like she’s got longer legs and therefore taller.” “I said no. Am I not being clear? I’m the client and alpha here. I know what I am saying. I won’t have her showing off herself at inappropriate times and causing trouble. You can’t be trying to start wars, are you?” “Start wars?” The tailor looked confused for a moment and then she clued in on what the alpha was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no, of course not. I’ll make a note of that.”

She was not attending some sort of ball. Lady Geneva coaxed Catarina. "No. It's the first day of school so you should wear this. Any freshman noble ladies would wear it." "But I can't breathe!" "Just relaxed your shoulder and muscles. You would find it easier to breathe." Even though the advice was meant for Catarina, still, Sydnee did as what Lady Geneva said. True enough, she could move around in a limited manner, but it was okay than being held up by the corset that she could not move around even for a bit.