The sun-drenched festival was a riot of noise and color, but for a single, heart-stopping second, everything went silent for Nancy Wheeler. There, leaning against a stall selling deep-fried sweets, was him. Steve Harrington. His trademark sunglasses were pushed up on his head, and that easy, familiar smile was aimed right at her. A hot-cold shiver, entirely separate from the summer heat, raced down her spine.She looked away instantly, her grip tightening on Jonathan Byers’s hand. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur against the din of the crowd.“Yeah, fine,” she said, forcing a brightness into her tone she didn’t feel. “Just thought I saw someone I knew. C’mon, let’s get a good spot for the acoustic set.”She steered him away, her pulse thrumming a frantic rhythm. She could feel the ghost of Steve’s gaze on her back, a tactile, unnerving pressure. For the next hour, she tried to lose herself in the music, in the comforting, solid presence of Jonathan beside her on the grassy hill. But her mind kept drifting, pulled back to a different time, a different version of herself. A version that thrilled at the dangerous glint in Steve Harrington’s eye.The band started a slow ballad. Nancy shifted. “I need to use the bathroom,” she said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.Jonathan nodded, his attention on the stage. “Okay. Hurry back.”She weaved through the crowd, the festive atmosphere now feeling claustrophobic. Pushing into the relative quiet of the portable restroom, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. What is wrong with you? You’re with Jonathan. He’s good. He’s safe. She splashed cool water on her wrists and stepped back out into the fading afternoon light.And there he was.Leaning against the rough-hewn wooden wall of a nearby food truck, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.“Hey, Wheeler.” Steve’s voice was a low, intimate rasp that cut through the distant music. “Long time.”Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Steve. I… I can’t.” She made to move past him, but he took a single, easy step into her path.“C’mon. Five minutes. For old time’s sake.” His smile was disarming, a weapon she remembered all too well. “Just to talk.”Every rational cell in her body screamed no. But a deeper, hungrier part, a part she kept locked away, stirred. Just five minutes. What’s the harm? “Fine,” she relented, her voice tight. “Five minutes. Somewhere quieter.”He led her away from the main thoroughfare, behind a high, ivy-covered stone wall that marked the edge of the festival grounds. The sounds of the crowd faded to a muffled hum. It was just the two of them, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and twilight.They stood for a moment in charged silence. “You look good, Nance,” he said, his eyes tracing the line of her neck.“Don’t,” she warned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You said talk. So talk.”He did. He talked about nothing. The weather. The terrible cover band. His new job. It was all a blur of sound to her, a prelude to something she knew was inevitable. The tension between them was a live wire, crackling and spitting sparks. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to hers.Her resolve was crumbling, the wall around that hidden part of her dissolving brick by brick. One last time. The thought was a siren’s call. One last taste, and then I walk away forever.She cut him off mid-sentence. “Okay. Alright. Shut up.” Her breath hitched. “I will give you one last kiss, alright? And then I’m leaving.”A triumphant gleam flashed in his eyes. “Just a kiss.”He closed the distance between them, and his mouth found hers. It wasn’t a gentle reunion; it was a reclaiming. Hard and insistent, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a familiarity that made her knees weak. She kissed him back, a low moan escaping her throat as her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders.And then his hand slid down, not to her waist, but lower. His palm pressed firmly against the denim covering her core. She gasped into his mouth, her body jolting at the sudden, shocking contact.“Wh— Steve, stop,” she managed, the words a weak protest against his lips. But her hips, betraying her utterly, gave a tiny, involuntary jerk into his touch.He didn’t stop. His fingers found the seam of her jeans, applying a deliberate, circling pressure right over the sensitive nub of her clit. A bolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shot through her, so intense it stole the air from her lungs. She tried to form another objection, but all that came out was a broken moan.“Mmm… I said… god… stop…”He pulled back just enough to look at her, his fingers never ceasing their slow, maddening circles. Her whole world had narrowed to that single point of friction. “Just a kiss, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.She was panting, her forehead falling against his chest. She could feel the dampness gathering between her legs, soaking through her thin panties. “I didn’t expect you… to rub my fucking pussy like that…”“But you liked it.” His other hand came up to tilt her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were glazed with lust, her lips swollen from his kiss.A final, feeble shred of defiance made her whisper, “No…” But her body arched into his hand, begging for more. She surrendered completely, the truth tumbling out in a breathy sigh. “…I loved it.”That was all the permission he needed. His fingers worked the button of her jeans, then the zipper. The rasp was obscenely loud in their hidden alcove. He shoved the denim and her panties down just enough, his warm hand sliding down her stomach, through her neatly trimmed curls.And then his fingers were on her, skin on skin. She cried out, a sharp, ragged sound as he parted her slick folds. She was already drenched for him, her body singing a chorus of yeses her mouth could no longer form. He traced her opening, coating his fingers in her arousal before sliding one, then two fingers deep inside her.“Oh, fuck, Steve…” Her head fell back as he began to move, a steady, piston-like rhythm that curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot that made her see stars. Her own wetness was proof of her betrayal, the slick, dirty sound of his hand moving against her filling the air. Her hands scrabbled at his back, holding on for dear life as he fingered her with an expertise Jonathan could never muster.She was hurtling towards the edge, her mind blissfully, guiltily empty of everything but the sensation. “It’s not cheating,” she panted, the words a desperate mantra to absolve her racing heart. She met his dark, hungry eyes, her own pleading for more, for everything. “It’s only cheating if you fuck me.”

Nancy, while at a festival with Jonathan, sees Steve Harrington and feels a mix of emotions. Steve approaches Nancy and they talk, but things quickly escalate, leading to Nancy giving in to Steve's advances.

The sun-drenched festival was a riot of noise and color, but for a single, heart-stopping second, everything went silent for Nancy Wheeler. There, leaning against a stall selling deep-fried sweets, was _him_. Steve Harrington. His trademark sunglasses were pushed up on his head, and that easy, familiar smile was aimed right at her. A hot-cold shiver, entirely separate from the summer heat, raced down her spine.

She looked away instantly, her grip tightening on Jonathan Byers’s hand. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur against the din of the crowd.

“Yeah, fine,” she said, forcing a brightness into her tone she didn’t feel. “Just thought I saw someone I knew. C’mon, let’s get a good spot for the acoustic set.”

She steered him away, her pulse thrumming a frantic rhythm. She could feel the ghost of Steve’s gaze on her back, a tactile, unnerving pressure. For the next hour, she tried to lose herself in the music, in the comforting, solid presence of Jonathan beside her on the grassy hill. But her mind kept drifting, pulled back to a different time, a different version of herself. A version that thrilled at the dangerous glint in Steve Harrington’s eye.

The band started a slow ballad. Nancy shifted. “I need to use the bathroom,” she said, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.

Jonathan nodded, his attention on the stage. “Okay. Hurry back.”

She weaved through the crowd, the festive atmosphere now feeling claustrophobic. Pushing into the relative quiet of the portable restroom, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. _What is wrong with you? You’re with Jonathan. He’s good. He’s safe._ She splashed cool water on her wrists and stepped back out into the fading afternoon light.

And there he was.

Leaning against the rough-hewn wooden wall of a nearby food truck, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

“Hey, Wheeler.” Steve’s voice was a low, intimate rasp that cut through the distant music. “Long time.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Steve. I… I can’t.” She made to move past him, but he took a single, easy step into her path.

“C’mon. Five minutes. For old time’s sake.” His smile was disarming, a weapon she remembered all too well. “Just to talk.”

Every rational cell in her body screamed _no_. But a deeper, hungrier part, a part she kept locked away, stirred. _Just five minutes. What’s the harm?_ “Fine,” she relented, her voice tight. “Five minutes. Somewhere quieter.”

He led her away from the main thoroughfare, behind a high, ivy-covered stone wall that marked the edge of the festival grounds. The sounds of the crowd faded to a muffled hum. It was just the two of them, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and twilight.

They stood for a moment in charged silence. “You look good, Nance,” he said, his eyes tracing the line of her neck.

“Don’t,” she warned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You said talk. So talk.”

He did. He talked about nothing. The weather. The terrible cover band. His new job. It was all a blur of sound to her, a prelude to something she knew was inevitable. The tension between them was a live wire, crackling and spitting sparks. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to hers.

Her resolve was crumbling, the wall around that hidden part of her dissolving brick by brick. _One last time._ The thought was a siren’s call. _One last taste, and then I walk away forever._

She cut him off mid-sentence. “Okay. Alright. Shut up.” Her breath hitched. “I will give you one last kiss, alright? And then I’m leaving.”

A triumphant gleam flashed in his eyes. “Just a kiss.”

He closed the distance between them, and his mouth found hers. It wasn’t a gentle reunion; it was a reclaiming. Hard and insistent, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a familiarity that made her knees weak. She kissed him back, a low moan escaping her throat as her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders.

And then his hand slid down, not to her waist, but lower. His palm pressed firmly against the denim covering her core. She gasped into his mouth, her body jolting at the sudden, shocking contact.

“Wh— Steve, _stop_,” she managed, the words a weak protest against his lips. But her hips, betraying her utterly, gave a tiny, involuntary jerk into his touch.

He didn’t stop. His fingers found the seam of her jeans, applying a deliberate, circling pressure right over the sensitive nub of her clit. A bolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shot through her, so intense it stole the air from her lungs. She tried to form another objection, but all that came out was a broken moan.

_“Mmm… I said… god… stop…”_

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his fingers never ceasing their slow, maddening circles. Her whole world had narrowed to that single point of friction. _“Just a kiss, huh?”_ he murmured, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

She was panting, her forehead falling against his chest. She could feel the dampness gathering between her legs, soaking through her thin panties. _“I didn’t expect you… to rub my fucking pussy like that…”_

_“But you liked it.”_ His other hand came up to tilt her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were glazed with lust, her lips swollen from his kiss.

A final, feeble shred of defiance made her whisper, _“No…”_ But her body arched into his hand, begging for more. She surrendered completely, the truth tumbling out in a breathy sigh. _“…I loved it.”_

That was all the permission he needed. His fingers worked the button of her jeans, then the zipper. The rasp was obscenely loud in their hidden alcove. He shoved the denim and her panties down just enough, his warm hand sliding down her stomach, through her neatly trimmed curls.

And then his fingers were on her, skin on skin. She cried out, a sharp, ragged sound as he parted her slick folds. She was already drenched for him, her body singing a chorus of yeses her mouth could no longer form. He traced her opening, coating his fingers in her arousal before sliding one, then two fingers deep inside her.

_“Oh, fuck, Steve…”_ Her head fell back as he began to move, a steady, piston-like rhythm that curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot that made her see stars. Her own wetness was proof of her betrayal, the slick, dirty sound of his hand moving against her filling the air. Her hands scrabbled at his back, holding on for dear life as he fingered her with an expertise Jonathan could never muster.

She was hurtling towards the edge, her mind blissfully, guiltily empty of everything but the sensation. _“It’s not cheating,”_ she panted, the words a desperate mantra to absolve her racing heart. She met his dark, hungry eyes, her own pleading for more, for everything. _“It’s only cheating if you fuck me.”_

A chance encounter at a vibrant festival reignites a forbidden flame between Nancy and her ex-boyfriend Steve. Their stolen moment behind a secluded wall leads to a passionate and illicit encounter, as Nancy struggles between her loyalty to her current boyfriend Jonathan and the irresistible allure of Steve's touch. The narrative delves into themes of infidelity, temptation, and the lingering effects of past relationships, as Nancy grapples with her desires and the consequences of giving in to temptation.

Nancy's Forbidden Reunion

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