Page 111 of Wild Thing

Her mistrust makes me laugh. “No, I’m not. Tons of shark teeth wash ashore, lost among the pebbles and shell fragments. Come here.”

I get down on my knees in the shallow waters and scoop up a handful of sand and pebbles, then sift through them.

Kat stands above me with her hands on her hips, watching in suspicion.

“We used to do this with sift trays, but you don’t have to,” I tell her. “The teeth are usually black.”

“Bullshit.”

I laugh again, I know how this all sounds. “I’m serious. They take on the minerals from the sediment and acquire dark colors. But if they’re relevantly new, they can be white.” I sift through the wet sand and pebbles with my fingers, then drop the remains in the water and grab another handful. “They vary in size from a speck to several inches long, but those are rare. The lower teeth are pointy, but the top ones are somewhat triangular.”

I tell her all I know about sharks and then stumble upon a tooth. “There!” I show it to her, only a little black, polished, triangular-shaped object, half an inch long. “That’s small, though.”

She studies it with suspicion. “Can I keep it?”

“Sure.”

She tucks it in her bikini top, then sinks onto her knees next to me and starts sifting through pebbles.

Twenty minutes of frustration later, Kat squeals and flashes a half-an-inch-long shark tooth with pride on her face.

I find another tooth, this time a bigger one, and while Kat sifts through the sand, I leave it where it is, slightly buried in the wet sand, and go around her.

“Move,” I say, and she moves a foot further, then finds it, her eyes glistening with delight, her excited squeal lacing with the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cave walls.

I can’t stop looking at her. She’s the sexiest woman I know, yet when I see her crouched on her knees like she is right now, a little frown on her face from being focused as she’s hunting for shark teeth, I want to cuddle up with her and never let her go farther than a foot away.

Okay, okay, this shark teeth hunt thing might’ve been a mistake. Kat takes everything with exaggerated enthusiasm.

The wild thing is so into it that she spends an hour looking for the damn teeth.

I give up and sit on the beach, enjoying the sun that’s so rare these days and the view of her.

She eventually joins me, a smile on her face, her skin glistening from water. I watch the horizon and Kat studies the shark teeth in her hand, asking me all sorts of questions.

“I’m keeping all of these,” she says, closing her hand into a fist.

She’s gotten one that’s an inch-and-a-half long and multiple smaller ones. The girl doesn’t care about luxury but treats shark teeth like the biggest treasure. Go figure.

“That’s the point,” I tell her. “I used to collect them. We first came here for someone’s birthday, about fourteen years or so ago, with Dad’s friends. Adam, my brother, and I spent two days wandering along this side of the coast gathering shark teeth. We were obsessed. Got a whole tin of them but missed the cake party.” I stretch my hand toward her. “I’ll keep them for you,” I say as she carefully transfers them into my palm, and I put them in the velcro pocket of my shorts.

“Are those sharks?” she asks, shielding her eyes with her palm and studying something in the water on the horizon.

“Could be.”

“Do they attack?”

“Sometimes. Are you scared now?”

“Nah.” She wrinkles her nose.

“I didn’t think so. You can probably pick one up by its fin or tail if it gets too close to you and flick it off to the other side of the ocean.”

“You bet I can.”

We both laugh. I pull her in for a kiss, and soon, our wet bodies are grinding, me fucking her carelessly, a big wave washing up to our waists, her blurting, “My shark teeth!” as she squirms around my cock and tries to reach for my board shorts.

“They’re fine,” I grunt, and our moans, tanned skin, and salty water make for the best day ever.

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