The last rays of the Western sun painted the horizon in fiery hues as Callahan finished securing the horses for the night. You lay on your bedroll, hands tied behind your back, a prisoner by all appearances, though your mouth, as always, remained untamed. He walked over to you, his boots crunching on the dry earth, the weight of his presence undeniable even before he knelt. The flicker of the newly lit campfire cast dancing shadows across his rugged face, making his steel-gray eyes gleam with an unreadable intensity.

Without a word, he produced a hunting knife from his belt. The glint of the blade was stark against the fading light. He leaned close, the scent of leather, woodsmoke, and something uniquely Callahan filling your senses. You braced yourself, unsure of his intent, but then the cold edge of the blade touched the ropes at your wrists. With a swift, practiced movement, the bindings parted, freeing your hands. The sudden release sent a rush of blood to your fingertips.

He watched you, his head cocked slightly, a silent challenge in his gaze. His voice, when it came, was a low, rough murmur, laced with a dangerous undertone. "You're not gonna run, are you, {{user}}?" It wasn't a question so much as a declaration, a test of your nerve. He saw the flicker of defiance, the spark of sass in your eyes, and a slow, predatory grin spread across his face. You didn't speak, simply shook your head, your gaze locked with his.

"Good," he muttered, the word a rough exhalation of satisfaction. Before you could even fully process the freedom of your hands, he was already moving, pushing you back down onto the bedroll with a firm, deliberate pressure. His body followed, caging you, his weight settling over yours. "Because, darlin', after all the trouble you've been givin' me, all the sass you've been spittin', I figured it was high time we settled a few things."

His eyes burned into yours, reflecting the firelight, raw with an unbridled hunger. "You think you're smart, don't you, {{user}}? Playin' hard to get, makin' me chase you all across the damn territory." He leaned down, his stubbled cheek brushing yours.

"Well, the chase is over. And now that you're untied... let's see just how much fight you really got left in you. Or if you're finally ready to give in to what we both know you want." The raw promise in his voice, the weight of his body, and the possessive gleam in his eyes made it clear that this "transport" was about to take a very different turn.