All Chapters of Owned By My Stepdad(MxM): Chapter 61 - Chapter 69

I don’t do feelings. I do control. I do distance. I do whatever the fuck I want without asking permission from anyone—least of all myself.So when I caught myself standing outside the economics building at 9:55 a.m., eyes scanning every face that walked through the double doors, I told myself it was a coincidence. Muscle memory. Boredom. Anything but the truth.The truth was Elias Whitaker.Every time I saw him, something in my chest locked up like a jammed gun. Not sweet. Just rage—hot, sudden, stupid. I’d see him laugh with that skateboard kid Luca, see the way his shoulders relaxed, see the easy way he leaned into someone else’s space, and my blood turned to acid. I wanted to walk over, grab Luca by the throat, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing touching what wasn’t his.What wasn’t his?The thought made me sick.I’m not gay.I’ve never been gay.I’ve fucked girls since I was sixteen—blondes, brunettes, redheads, sorority girls, bartenders, the TA in my freshman stats cl

The psych lecture dragged on like a bad hangover—professor droning about cognitive dissonance, slides full of graphs that blurred together. I sat in the back row, notebook open but pen idle, mind a mess of half-formed thoughts. Kai. Luca. Vane. The hallway bump from last week kept replaying—his low voice (Careful. You don’t want to find out), the way his eyes had raked over me like he was deciding how to take me apart. I hated how it stuck. Hated how it made my skin heat every time I remembered. Luca was the opposite—easy, fun, uncomplicated. We’d skated yesterday, grabbed coffee after, and talked about nothing until it felt like something. But even as I laughed at his jokes, my brain wandered back to Kai’s stare. The way he made me feel seen and invisible all at once.Class ended at 2:15. I packed slowly, slinging my backpack over one shoulder, heading out into the quad. Fall sun low and golden, leaves crunching under my sneakers. Isabella was in her art history seminar until 3, so I

I woke up to the sound of Vane’s suitcase zipper.He was already dressed—dark jeans, charcoal sweater, leather jacket slung over the chair. The room still smelled like last night: sex, his cologne, the faint sweetness of Isabella’s vanilla body spray from when she hugged me goodbye. Sunlight sliced through the blinds in thin gold bars across the floor. Luca’s bed was empty again—skateboard gone, bag missing. He’d left early. Again.Vane looked over his shoulder while he folded a shirt.“Morning.”I sat up, sheets pooling around my waist. “You’re leaving already?”“Flight’s at 11:40. I have to be at the airport by 9:30.” He zipped the suitcase, set it by the door, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. His hand found my cheek—thumb brushing the faint bruise Luca’s stubble had left. “I didn’t want to wake you.”I leaned into his touch. “Stay one more day.”His eyes softened. “I can’t. Chicago’s still on fire. But I’ll be back next weekend. Promise.”I nodded—swallowed the

The day started almost too good.I woke up before my alarm—sunlight slicing through the blinds in perfect golden bars, Luca still asleep on his side of the room, breathing slow and even. No headache. No lingering guilt from last night’s party. Just that quiet buzz of possibility you only get in the first week of college, when everything feels new and nothing has gone wrong yet.I showered fast, dressed quick—black jeans, gray hoodie, sneakers—and grabbed my backpack. Luca stirred when I opened the door.“Class?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.“Yeah. Econ. You?”“Later. Skate first.”I smiled. “Don’t break your neck.”“No promises.”The quad was alive when I stepped outside—frisbees sailing, coffee cups everywhere, kids in orientation hoodies still looking lost in the best way. I walked to Gates Hall with music in my earbuds—some indie playlist Luca had sent me last week—and for once my head felt clear. Classes were easy. Econ lecture flew by—professor drawing supply curves that f