When Lucien stepped out of the shower, he found his wife standing before the walk-in wardrobe, looking downcast.

He raised a questioning, bushy eyebrow, and she looked at him mournfully.

‘Lucien,’ she sighed. “None of my bikinis fit me anymore.’

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Then he crossed to where she stood, draped in a fluffy pink towel, and yanked it down. Forcing her unwilling body against the wall, his hands cupped her large breasts greedily, and soon he was nipping at them while she protested helplessly.

Finally, she pushed him away, face pink and said in a small voice, crossly,

‘Lucien Delano, are you even...