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My shirt clings to every curve, darkened by water, pressing against my chest and nipples so you can see every detail. I arch, sway, and grind slightly, letting the wet fabric tease your eyes while I bite my lip and moan softly. Fingers brush over the soaked cotton, tracing curves through the shirt, making it impossible to look away. Can you handle watching me drip and tremble, every movement soaked in temptation?