AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I was discussing Lysaac with a friend (basically give us Lysaac or give us death and all that) and she suggested this ingenious idea for them and I started writing it right away. I've been wanting to work on a series for Isaac and Lydia and I thought Silvia's idea was absolutely perfect. And all credit to her for helping me find all the erotic poems I include in these chapters. Thanks a bunch, hun :D This series is for you & I really hope you like it :)

She carelessly flipped her book open and that's when the sheet fell out and drifted to the floor, landing right by her four inch, red heels. Leaning over, Lydia reached down and gingerly picked up the notebook paper by the edges between her thumb and index finger, inspecting it with curiosity. Tilting her head to the side, she opened the folded sheet of paper and read the four lines scrawled on the paper. She studied the handwriting first, not recognizing it but recognizing it as clearly masculine.

"There are times I desire you," she read under her breath, her cheeks blushing. She looked around the classroom, her eyes meeting the eyes of other students, but there was no recognition in any of them, no sign that they knew what she was reading. She turned back to what she was reading. "In a lovers arms. Sometimes I want you making fierce love, with moans like thought bubbles." Well, now, that certainly did it. Now she felt herself becoming aroused and it wasn't even noon yet.

Lydia frantically shoved the piece of paper in her Chloe bag and placed it on the floor under her seat, out of view. She looked around the room again, picking up her pen and tapping it against the edge of her desk in agitation as she studied everyone. Her suspicion first fell upon Aiden. Could it be him? There were many reasons it could be him, but there were also many reasons it couldn't. First of all, they had broken up. After all these months, why now? Second, had he even ever read any erotic poetry? Dismissing the idea of it being him, she moved onto her next suspect: Stiles. Leaving erotic poems in a girl's textbook didn't exactly seem to be his method, so she quickly dismissed him as well. Scott? No. He'd never shown interest in her. He was too busy pining after Allison. There were some new kids that were a good possibility.

She felt someone staring at her rather intensely, but when she turned to look she found herself gazing at nothing. She shuddered, unease washing over her. Who had been gazing at her so intensely that she'd felt it and how had they disappeared so quickly? Lydia looked around the room again, slowly traveling her eyes over each face. She paused by the door and thought she saw someone she knew standing outside watching her, but then just as soon as she had seen him the figure had disappeared and she wasn't sure if what she'd seen had been real or just imagined.

Shaking her head, Lydia turned back to the front of the class and continued to go over in her mind who could be her secret poet. It could be any number of boys at the school. It could be girls, too. She was everyone's type. Boys and girls wanted to be her and wanted to be with her. But the writing had been masculine, so she could rule out the possibility of her secret admirer being a girl.

Lydia tried to focus on the class, but her mind remained on the piece of paper in her bag on the floor. It was like a magnet and her mind the piece of metal, the two being pulled together against their will. She had the poem memorized. There are times I desire you in a lovers arms. She recognized the poem from somewhere, remembered reading it years ago.

After class, Lydia leaned against her locker and surveyed the hallway of students, eyeing them all as her culprit. Allison came up beside her and said, "Looking for fresh meat?"

"Sort of. I received this today," Lydia added, handing over the poem she was holding onto. She looked over at Allison and watched as her best friend read it, smiling delightedly as Allison's eyes widened. "What do you think?"

"I think someone's very desperately creative to get laid."

Frowning, Lydia reached out and yanked the piece of paper out of Ali's hands and slipped it back in her jacket pocket and let out a little hmph at Allison's response. "I'm trying to figure out who it is. I've crossed Aiden off the list. Romance was never his forte. He was more the type to, get in and out, if you know what I mean. The faster the better. And eroticism just doesn't scream Stiles to me. And Scott's too busy pining after you -"

"Lydia, he's not -" Allison interrupted her, shaking her head and laughing softly as she put her books away. "He's not pining after me."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling," Lydia replied. "Anyway. If it's not Aiden, Stiles or Scott – it's certainly not Danny or Ethan. It's not-"

"Maybe it's Derek," Allison interjected, unable to resist.

Lydia rolled her eyes and shot Allison an exasperated look. "Really?" she asked. "I'd rather have flees." She had warmed up to Derek and thought kinder of him than she used to – though she still did not think any kinder of his uncle Peter and likely never would – but the thought of Derek leaving her erotic poems and the idea of ever being with him in that way repulsed her.

"Ouch. So who do you think it is, then?"

"I don't know," she said. "And I hate not knowing," she added vehemently, slamming her locker shut and making Allison shut. "It's one of many things I hate in this world."

"Chill, Lyd. Maybe this'll be fun," Allison said, placing a placating hand on Lydia's arm as the fiery red-head leaned her back against the locker. "I gotta get to class. I'll talk to you later." And with that, Allison bid her goodbye with a smile and a squeeze on the arm, leaving Lydia leaning against her locker.

Watching her walk away, Lydia pulled out the poem and read it over again. "In a lovers arms," Lydia read aloud, now alone in the hallway. She sighed heavily and tipped her head back, leaning it against her locker. Maybe Allison was right. Maybe she should enjoy whatever her secret admirer was doing and savor the attention, look forward to receiving these little snippets of erotic poems in her textbooks – that is, if there were going to be more.

Leaning against the opposite side of the lockers, Isaac listened to the rhythm of Lydia's heartbeat. It beat faster and faster and he could smell her arousal, a smirk appearing on his face. The idea had occurred to him in the middle of the night when he'd been unable to fall asleep. He knew if he wanted to get Lydia's attention he'd have to do something out of the ordinary. A simple hello or flirtation wouldn't suffice. She wasn't just an ordinary girl. Not to him, at least. Even though they were in the same circle now – not here at school but at least when it came to other supernatural happenings – she still didn't notice him quite as much as he noticed her. And the first erotic poem seemed to have gotten her attention.

Isaac looked down at the piece of paper in his hand and read over the next verse for Lydia, deciding when and where he'd slip her the piece of paper. Lunch, perhaps? Or at the end of the day? He imagined her arriving home and finding the second piece of paper while unloading her books on her bed, sitting on the edge of her bed and reading it there.

Making up his mind, he listened for her heartbeat and when he heard it he walked off in the opposite direction. Lydia pushed herself away from her locker and turned the corner just as Isaac disappeared from view, making her way to the girls' restroom. She applied some lip gloss and a little blush and then made her way to study hall, where she spent most of her time reading the poem over and over again until she drove herself mad. She forced herself to finish what homework she'd been assigned so far so she could relax once she was at home.

The rest of the day passed without incident and to be honest, Lydia was slightly disappointed. She had been hoping to catch her secret poet in the act, find out who it is right away. Maybe she had romanticized everything, made it too big a deal. Perhaps the poem meant nothing and someone was just trying to mess with her. Now put out, Lydia sighed and aggressively stuffed her books in her locker. Realizing she'd left her English book in the classroom, she let out a whining sound and grabbed her Chloe bag from inside her locker, slammed it shut, and went off to retrieve her book.

Isaac slipped into the empty classroom and picked up Lydia's English book. Smiling, he opened it up to the middle and slipped the piece of paper with the second verse inside and then closed it again. He set the book back down on the desk and left the classroom before anyone, including Lydia, discovered him in there. As he exited the classroom and rounded the corner, Lydia strode into the classroom and over to her desk and reached out and grabbed her book. She slipped her copy of The Scarlet Letter into her bag and returned to her locker to grab a couple textbooks to take home with her.

On the drive home she stopped off at a coffee shop and got herself a drink, desperately needing a coffee. Since she had the place to herself, Lydia slipped her heels off and carried them with her upstairs. Placing them in her closet, Lydia set her coffee on her bedside table and then her bag on her bed and her books on the edge of her bed. Taking off her jacket, she shook it out and hung it up in its proper place. Cracking her neck from side to side, Lydia reached her hands behind her back and grasped them together, stretching her arms as she went over to sit on her bed.

Sighing heavily, she twisted around and reached over for her Chemistry book when she changed her mind and reached inside her Chloe bag for her Bronte book instead. Lydia crawled back on her bed and leaned against her headboard, crossing one leg over the other and opening her book where she'd last left off – Heathcliff's first reunion with Catherine, if she remembered correctly. She was flipping through the pages when she came across it, another piece of notebook paper. Freezing, Lydia licked her lips and pulled the piece of paper out from between the pages and set Wuthering Heights down, completely forgetting about Cathy and Heathcliff's tragic love story when she had her own intriguing story going on here right now. Folding open the paper, she saw that this poem was longer than the first one and this excited her, becoming eager to read it. She cleared her throat and read aloud,

"If only you knew

The wicked thoughts

That I am having of you,"

Lydia's breath caught in her throat. She took a deep breath and then swallowed, looking around her room. Collecting herself, she looked back down at the verses scrolled on the piece of paper and continued reading.

"Of limbs entangled

Yours and mine

Of lips locked in kisses

And bodies entwined

Of twisted sheets

Covered in sweat

Of moments so sweet

Unblemished by regrets

Of hours shared

In passion's embrace."

There was more, but Lydia was unable to go on and blew out a breath, letting her hand fall on the bed beside her thigh, the piece of paper with the verses resting lightly in her hand. She rubbed her lips together, closing her eyes and trying to get her hormones under control. Now was not the time to be aroused. Closing her hand around the poem, Lydia lifted her arm and brought hand up to her face and opened her hand, holding the paper before her. "Whoever you are," she said, reading the poem silently in her head. "I'll find you."