In the next second, the ferocious beast bit its prey's fragile neck. Maeve cried out in pain as she opened her mouth. Byron seized the opportunity. The warm tip of his tongue forced her teeth apart, biting her lip. "Ugh! Let go—" Maeve was speechless, her hands weakly pushing against his shoulders, but to no avail. Tears welled in her eyes as anger and resentment surged. She thought, What does he take me for? Who does he think I am? She closed her eyes and bit his lower lip hard.

The thick scent of blood filled their mouths. Byron's eyes were faintly red, but his mind cleared. Looking at Maeve's flushed face and panicked, resistant gaze, his eyes grew cold. He thought, Is she so unwilling to be with me after being in another man's arms?

With this thought, Byron not only didn't let go, but tore open the collar of her pajamas. He forced his legs between hers, leaning in to kiss her again. His kiss was wild and stormy. Red marks blossomed on Maeve's soft skin. She couldn't resist; her delicate body trembled under his control.

"M-Mr. McDaniel... Byron! You can't do this! What do you take me for!" Her heart panicked; intense uneasiness reddened her eyes. It shouldn't be like this. We shouldn't be doing this, she thought. Hot tears fell on Byron's hand. He stopped and looked down.

Maeve's face was flushed and tear-streaked. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks. Her pajamas were bunched at her waist, revealing smooth skin covered in his red marks. Normally, Byron might have felt pity, but he didn't. He narrowed his eyes and pinched her chin. He said hoarsely, "You don't want me to touch you?" Maeve's nose was red as she nodded frantically.

"Sure," his tone was indifferent and cold. "Be good and open your mouth. Let me kiss you as much as I want, then I won't touch you."

What did he mean by "as much as he wants"? What if he never stops? she thought, shaking her head. She felt the imminent threat and could only hold back her anger and agree. Closing her eyes, she comforted herself that she’d kissed him before; it wouldn't matter again. It would be like kissing a dog.

"Maeve, you seem to have mistaken something," Byron mocked, looking at her closed eyes. "I'm asking you to kiss me."

Maeve looked up in shock. Her red lips parted slightly before she stammered, "I-I don't know how to…"

"You won't do it?" Byron rubbed his palm suggestively against her slender waist. "Then shall I continue?"

"No!" Maeve interrupted anxiously, her eyes growing aggrieved. "Mr. McDaniel, I just got my period. I'm really uncomfortable. I want to sleep." Her voice was choked with sobs.

Byron stared at her reddened eyes for a long time, then clicked his tongue. He roughly tidied her pajamas and lay down again, wrapping his arms around her slender, trembling waist and closing his eyes.

Maeve expected him to continue, but she was stunned. Perhaps drunk men were unreasonable. After all, he'd said last night that she disgusted him. Yet now, he was hugging her tightly.

Maeve pursed her lips, her emotions a mess. Soon, Byron's breathing steadied, as if he had fallen asleep. She heaved a sigh of relief. She wanted to leave but couldn't move his arm. Angry, she bit his hand, but he didn't stir. Exhausted and uncomfortable, she closed her eyes and slept.

The next morning, Maeve woke to a warm, comfortable feeling on her lower abdomen. She reached out, but it felt wrong. Opening her eyes, she saw her pajama top pulled up, a hand resting on her abdomen.

She sat up, seeing Byron sleeping beside her. Last night's memories flooded back, reddening her face. She couldn't believe she'd slept unguarded beside him. She'd been utterly thoughtless.

Maeve scrambled out of bed and fled the bedroom.

Shortly after, Byron awoke, sitting up, his dark face etched with fatigue. He couldn't believe he'd gotten drunk last night and wondered who'd brought him home. His temples throbbed. He sat quietly before getting up. Entering the bathroom, his expression froze.

Maeve stood sideways before the mirror, ointment in hand, shirtless and braless. Her smooth skin—shoulders, breasts, waist—was exposed.

Byron's gaze lingered. The sight overlapped with last night's events. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched.

Maeve turned, meeting his gaze. Panic filled her eyes. She screamed, grabbing her pajama top. "Mr. McDaniel, why didn't you knock? Get out!"

Byron snapped back to reality. He was about to mock her when he saw the reddened skin on her back.

"What are you looking at?" Maeve feared another outburst. She hugged herself tightly. "Don't you know your manners? Don't look. Leave now!"

He paused, raising his eyelids coldly. "You took off your clothes in the bathroom and didn't lock the door. Now you blame me for not knocking? Besides, I've touched you everywhere. There's no need for this."

He gave her a meaningful glance and left.

Maeve's head spun. How was I to know he'd wake up so early? And what did he mean, "there's no need for this"? Did he mean I might as well not hide it? She almost threw the ointment at him, but the door was already closed. Angrily, she continued applying the medicine. The burn no longer hurt, but the redness was alarming, especially since applying the ointment was difficult.

(The final sentence is slightly awkwardly phrased, but I've left it as is to maintain the original's intent.) The addition of the publishing information has been removed as it's irrelevant to the grammatical correction of the text.