You Shook Me Howl Night Long

By DJ Jennings

Eliot “Pole” Elianzo is a god in college football, and he knows it.

Too bad he’s also a polar bear.

The Morph happens on national television, right after a pro team picks him in the draft. It’s official–Pole is a shifter.

And boy, is he livid.

He can’t choose practice over his mandatory stay at Camp Shifter, but he sure can make camp a nightmare for everyone.

Especially the hot ash blonde who’s teaching Undressed in Public 101 classes.

Risa Devaneau can’t believe Pole’s in her class, in the first row, and very, very undressed. The former sportscaster and wolf shifter ran away from her testosterone-filled career for the quiet peace of Camp Shifter. Sure, teaching people how to be undressed in public isn’t exactly the most prestigious job, but it got her away from the city. From her overly controlling politician father. From her past.

From Pole.

And here he is, smirking at her, front and center.

In his birthday suit.

-----

You Shook Me Howl Night Long is book 2 in the Camp Shifter series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why not enjoy them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prosaic Press
• Release date: Oct 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781950172160

Book preview

Chapter 1

P ole! she whispered.

Who the hell was in his bed? Morning took revenge on last night and sprayed blinding needles of sunshine in his eyes. All he wanted was more shut-eye.

Pole!

He ignored her. Why was she still in his bed? Didn’t they know to leave after the sex part? What was her name? Started with a D. Dee? Delia? Something like that. They all blended together. Tits and ass and moans and sweat and slick.

Sex was nice, but not so much when it talked.

Pole! I can’t find my contact lens.

Damn.

And I drove here, so I need to find it, and if I can’t find it I’m screwed because they’re expensive and...

She was a talker.

Ugh.

He hated talkers.

Grunting, he climbed out of bed still naked, dropped to the floor, and found the damn contact lens in two seconds, his eyes tight and telescoping with that radar vision his football coach prized.

Without a word, he handed it to her, then walked away down the hall to get his morning coffee.

...thank you! Last night was great, and I–

He grabbed his phone, shoved his earbuds in, and blasted AC/DC as he made a single cup of coffee in the hotel room’s efficient little machine.

One cup.

Thank God the suite he shared with his teammate, Tom, had two bathrooms. Taking his hot cup of black Joe into one bathroom, he shut the door, locked it, and turned on the spray.

Ten minutes later, he was caffeine fortified, showered, and goddamn, that cleat chaser better be gone.

He slung a towel around his hips and opened the door.

...and I just love the way you throw the ball and how you do all that work for the charity and your tat on your right shoulder with your mom’s name is the best...

He groaned. Jesus. She’d kept talking at him the entire time he was across the suite and in the shower?

Yeah? he heard Tom reply, his voice full of sex. I’m just being a good son.

But I hope you’re a bad boy, she said in that deep, sultry voice she used last night on Pole, at the bar, the tone that decided for him he’d be balls deep in her within an hour last night.

Now she was hitting on Tom?

Fuck that.

He dropped the towel and walked straight into the suite’s living room, simmering with anger for something he didn’t understand.

Hey, Tom said with a nod and zero comment on Pole’s nakedness. The two were kissing as Pole stomped past, earbuds in but music off.

Uh, the chickiebabe said, as if caught stealing candy from a baby.

Pole just shot her the middle finger and walked on by. Today was too important to let this get to him.

This was going to be the best weekend in April. And that meant one thing. Draft day.

And Pole was on top of the fucking world.

In a few hours he’d be on cable sports television, sitting next to Rich Eisen, the sports world watching as he became the number one draft pick for the professional football team that wanted him most–and shoved enough dollar signs his way.

The sex last night had been essential. He needed the release. Three times in a row with Chickiebabe (what was her name? Deanna?) had been useful. Hot. Even fun.

Not so fun now.

Delta, Tom said to her. That’s right, Delta. Pole’s brain pinged back to one of his advanced math classes.

Delta meant change.

Snorting, he sat on the edge of his bed, blood pumping through him, a weird rage building from his gut on out, radiating to his hands and feet. He wasn’t mad Tom sniped his groupie–turnabout was fair play, and Pole had taken morning-after fun with Tom’s jersey chasers before.

He was pissed for no reason.

And that never ended well.

How about you come over to my place, Tom? It’s less crowded, Delta said in a voice loud enough to reach Pole. Designed to reach Pole. Tom was hoping to be picked on day two or three of the draft, so he was in no hurry. Might as well get some more sex when you were lower in the pack, right?

Pole heard footsteps, then giggles, then the snap of the front door closing.

Tension eased from his shoulders.

Good. They were gone. Now he could concentrate on getting ready for the biggest day of his life. Too much was at stake to let some piece of ass get in his way.

His mouth drooled at the memory of her body writhing under his, and suddenly he was hard.

Then he remembered the chicks he banged last weekend, especially the one who grabbed his ass and slipped him a pinkie finger at the last second, and he was a goddamn piece of granite.

Pole stood, walked to the pull-up bar in his bedroom doorway, placed by hotel staff especially for him, and did pull-ups until he couldn’t get his chin over the bar. He stopped at twenty and muttered, No use getting worn out before the big appearance.

His skin crawled with ants.

He needed more coffee.

As the machine burbled and Pole listened to more AC/DC, his phone buzzed. His agent.

Pole! You ready to roll in the millions? Jared Needleman was the best agent in sports. He’d plucked Pole out of the crowd when he was a weak little freshman in a cornfield, and now here they were, ready to go for gold.

Pole’s anger skyrocketed, fueled by Jared’s words.

Ready to take care of my family, he growled.

FUCK YEAH! Jared screamed in the phone. The guy was a little too close to Jerry Maguire for Pole’s tastes, but Jared would negotiate sports-product endorsements that would equal more than Pole’s football contract, so he tolerated the rah-rah bullshit.

YOU ARE THE MAN!

Pole smiled in spite of himself. Jesus. Talk about stereotypes.

You have a nice night? Nice piece of ass? Saw you chatting up that jersey chaser in the bar last night.

She was fine.

Good to see you moving on.

The rage inside him developed a face. All the confusing feelings suddenly went from a red mist of nothing to a woman’s beautiful eyes, with long lashes and sweet lips that used to say I love you. Used to moan his name. Used to talk about their future.

Used to be his world.

A year ago, he dumped his long-time girlfriend, Risa. Never really told her why.

Broke her fucking heart.

Shattered his.

But he wasn’t going to think about Risa today. He wasn’t going to think about anything but himself today.

And his family.

"Just get me the money I need to bring the rest of my family to the U.S., Jared. My abuelita is sick. I need to get her here for those cancer treatments. You know that’s all I care about." Pole stared at his own reflection in the mirror, unblinking, until his features blended into Risa’s, her high cheekbones filled with a smile, those big slanted eyes watching him with a hunger he matched heartbeat for heartbeat, caress for caress, lick for lick.

He looked down.

His cock looked back up.

Got it, man! No problem. Once we do this dog and pony show today, you’ll be the hottest sports star since Michael Phelps! David Beckham! Jared was in it for the money. Pole knew he’d make a pile off his percentage cut as agent.

Compare me to a fucking football player! Pole shouted.

Tom Brady!

Pole looked at his balls.

Nothing down there was deflated.

Get your sweet million-dollar ass down to the center for draft day. We need you in makeup. The whole bit, Pole. This is the big time.

Excuse me. Correct yourself, Jared, Pole growled as he yanked on a pair of pants

"Correct what?"

"You said million-dollar ass. Don’t you fucking devalue me."

Pole stood and stormed to the window, watching as Tom and Delta made out against the driver’s-side door of her car, Tom’s hand riding up her thigh. She was nothing special last night. Just some sweet flesh to lose himself in, but suddenly blood rose in him, his gut clenching, his ass tightening at the memory of pumping into her, how her fingernails shredded his back, how she did that thing with her hips at the end that made his orgasm a little hotter than usual.

And how he’d wanted her again immediately, right away, his damn cock taking its time to get ready. Three times last night they had sex.

Four if you counted the blow job back at the bar. Which he didn’t.

His record was nine times in a twenty-four-hour period. A flash of memory, of Risa’s platinum hair spread over his shoulder, of the joke between them about setting that record, made his cock twitch in his business-casual pants.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t think about her now. Not today.

Any day but today.

"Your multi-million dollar ass, Pole! You have the most valuable ass on the fucking planet! Jared crowed. The car’s on its way. I ordered you a sweet Hummer limo. Nothing but the best for my–"

And you’re getting the charitable foundation set up? You know I want that funded and handing out grants before I buy any toys.

Sure, sure. Don’t worry! Don’t stress yourself out, man. I’ve got it all covered. You just show up, look big and scary, and get drafted.

Pole ended the call. Jared could be so annoying.

He watched as Delta cupped Tom’s erection and ran her palm against the guy’s fly. Pole didn’t give a shit about that–this wasn’t jealousy that welled up inside him.

It was pure lust.

He looked at the clock, his eyes blurring slightly before they tightened, his vision suddenly sharp.

And then he unzipped his pants and beat off quickly, a vision of heathered blonde hair with a grey streak and pale blue eyes turning into a cloud that exploded.

Took under a minute. That was a record, too. What the hell was wrong with him? At this rate, he’d beat his record with Risa.

Stop thinking about Risa!

Pole had just enough time to grab the car Jared ordered to take him to the station where the draft was being televised. He throbbed with excitement, his muscles swollen, body tingling and primed for being the center of attention, for showing them all who was boss, who was the best, the brightest, the goddamn king of football.

That’s right.

Showtime.

And Pole was ready to make the world never, ever forget who he was.

Chapter 2

Risa Devaneau sat at the nearly empty table in the enormous dining lodge at Camp Shifter and drank the rest of her delightful third cup of morning coffee in blissful peace. Her shoulders dropped, tension releasing, as the hustle and bustle of the camp’s routines soothed her. Breakfast was over, and that meant morning workshops would begin promptly at eight a.m.

As an instructor at Camp Shifter, she didn’t have to adhere to the schedule other than to teach her three classes a day, counsel first-week female shifters, and work on paperwork for the campers’ files. Her first Naked in Public 101 workshop started at nine. Risa savored this hour between the crazy chaos of breakfast and the neurotic–and sometimes erotic–nature of her course material.

Attendance was mandatory.

And so was nudity.

A few stragglers across the dining hall looked over at her and waved, one of the guys openly staring at her, mouth twitching with amusement. That was Jack Karsten. Bear shifter and a physician, he’d mated with Mara the owl shifter.

"Hey, Risa! Looking forward to baring it all today!" Jack called out, making his mate, Mara, elbow him in the ribs. Roscoe the weasel shifter made kissy faces at Risa.

She gave Roscoe the middle finger and groaned at Jack’s pun. He was a good guy. A great guy, even. When Jack had shown up last August, she’d felt something, but it died quickly for two reasons:

1. No dating campers when you were on staff, and more important–

2. He clearly wasn’t interested.

When Mara had shown up a week or so after Jack, Risa understood instantly. The two were paired for life and as Risa watched Jack pull Mara in for a slow, deep kiss that went on forever, she averted her eyes and sighed.

You’ll find your mate, said a familiar voice, a friendly hand on her shoulder. Danielle, one of the three camp directors, sat down next to Risa, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Her eyes tracked Risa’s as they both watched Jack and Mara leave the big lodge hand in hand.

I know, Risa said automatically, without emotion. She jutted her chin toward the couple. How’s Mara’s shoulder?

Fully healed. Jack’s got her taken care of. Nothing like dislocating your shoulder and breaking bones when you’re mated to an orthopedic surgeon. Danielle’s laugh was hollow, though.

Last August, a group of wolf shifters had attacked Mara during DarkNight, the nightly erotic wild time that Camp Shifter held after dark. A time of revelry and fun, of seduction and no-rules sensuality, DarkNight was a forbidden fruit, a sweet extra added to the camp to give new shifters a chance to explore their pumped-up sexuality.

A case of undiagnosed rabies in Harley, the leader of a wolf pack, had nearly destroyed poor Mara. Jack had