Jet lag's a bitch

Samson groaned. Every muscle in his body ached when he returned to consciousness. He was only in his thirties, but his body was clearly not well prepared for the kind of debauchery Gray could engage in.

Aww, is the poor old corporeal body not up to the task? You really let yourself go, shithead.

Despite the demon's taunts, Samson could feel the aches fading as if, well, as if by magic. Refreshed, Samson became aware of another body next to him as he lay on the bed. His still blurry eyes made out the blonde, shapely figure at first, and his addled mind started to greet whichever girlfriend it was. Instead, however, his eyes slowly revealed that it was not one of his loves, Mary or Beth, but the girl he had met in St. Petersburg. Confused about how she had followed him home, it next came to his attention that he was not, in fact, at home. The facts rushed into his slightly throbbing head.

He was still in St. Petersburg. He had just fucked some random chick while he was supposed to be checking into his Airbnnb. Gray was back. God, when did he get so old? Confirming his hazy recollection, Samson saw the solid form of Alina in front of him, still nude but becoming increasingly distraught.

As he got dressed to leave, Samson stared at Alina's figure and seriously considered another round.