Heads In Overdrive Quotes

Cupping my cheeks, he exhaled a soft groan, and his lips scorched mine as he deepened the kiss until we both were breathless from its intensity. Daemon moved as close as he could with the chair between us. Gripping his arms, I held onto him, wanting him closer. The chair prevented all but our lips and hands from touching. Frustrating. Move, I ordered restlessly. It trembled under my foot, and then the heavy oak chair slid out from under me, dodging our leaning bodies. Unprepared for the sudden void, Daemon lurched forward, and I was unable to carry the unexpected weight. I collapsed backward, bringing Daemon along with me. The full contact of his body, flush against mine, sent my senses into chaotic overdrive. His tongue swept over mine as his fingers splayed across my cheeks. His hand slid down my side, gripping my hip as he urged me closer. The kisses slowed and his chest rose as he drank me in. With one last lingering exploration, he lifted his head and smiled down at me. My heart skipped a beat as he hovered over me with an expression that tugged deep in my chest. He moved his finger back up, along my cheek, trailing an invisible path to my chin. "I didn't move that chair, Kitten." "I know." "I'm assuming you didn't like where it was?" "It was in your way," I said. My hands were still curled around his arms. "I can see that." Daemon smoothed a fingertip over the curve of my bottom lip before taking my hand, pulling me up.

Aiden smirked. "Wonder what this one is called?" The hellhound's ears twitched as the massive body lowered preparing for attack. I slid my hand to the middle of the blade, feeling my heart pound and the adrenaline kick my system into overdrive. In the pit of my stomach, the cord started to unravel. I swallowed. "Let's call this one... Toto." Three mouths opened in a growl that sent a cold chill down my spine, and a wave of hot, fetid breath smacked into us. Bile burned the back of my throat. "I guess it doesn't like the name," I said, moving slowly to the right. Aiden's powerful body tensed. "Here, Toto..." One head snapped in his direction. "That's a good Toto." I slipped around the ancient cross, creeping up on the hellhound from the right. The middle and left head focused on me, snapping and growlying. Aiden clucked his tongue. "Come on, Toto, I'm pretty tasty.

Solomon roared when his wrists were cinched roughly behind his back and the sack closed tightly around his head. His face hit the floor and sent his adrenaline into overdrive as he screamed through the material, squirming and grunting under the pressure between his shoulder blades. Fuck! He couldn't breathe! "Be still!" a gravelly voice nearly begged.

He obviously enjoyed her annoyance. He took his time and uncapped the bottle of water. Removed his ball cap. Dumped the water over his head. Julianna’s breath caught. Her body slammed into overdrive at the raw sexual scene before her. Water dripped from his thick blond hair and ran down his face. Over a carved jaw. Slid down to dampen perfectly cut lips. His t-shirt soaked up the liquid and clung to his chest like a Women’s Night gone wild. Hunger hit hard and deep as she followed the trail down to his belt buckle, where droplets slid under the denim and hid beyond.

The more I think the more my head hurts, and lately my brain has been in constant overdrive. I keep taking showers to cool it down, like the way they pour water on an overheating machine. I usually feel better after the third or fourth shower.

How are psychiatric and neurological disorders different? At the moment, the most obvious difference is the symptoms that patients experience. Neurological disorders tend to produce unusual behavior, or fragmentation of behavior into component parts, such as unusual movements of a person’s head or arms, or loss of motor control. By contrast, the major psychiatric disorders are often characterized by exaggerations of everyday behavior. We all feel despondent occasionally, but this feeling is dramatically amplified in depression. We all experience euphoria when things go well, but that feeling goes into overdrive in the manic phase of bipolar disorder. Normal fear and pleasure seeking can spiral into severe anxiety states and addiction. Even certain hallucinations and delusions from schizophrenia bear some resemblance to events that occur in our dreams.

Thanks for getting me out of there,” I murmur, lacing my fingers around my knees, and looking up at him on his step. “Yeah. You looked a little green. “ “I don’t handle crowds too well. I’ve always been that way, I guess.” “You might get in trouble,” he warns, staring at me in that strange, hungry way that unravels me. He strokes his bottom lip with a finger. For a flash of a second, his eyes look strange. Different. All glowing irises and thin dark pupils. Almost drake-like. I blink to clear my vision. His eyes are normal again. Just my imagination in overdrive. I’m probably projecting missing home and Az—everything--onto him. “Pep rallies are mandatory,” he continues. “A lot of people saw you leave. Teachers included.” “They saw you leave, too,” I point out. He leans to the side, propping an elbow on one of the steps behind him. “I’m not worried about that. I’ve been in trouble before.” He smiles a crooked grin and holds up crossed fingers. “The principal and I are like this. The guy loves me. Really.” Laughter spills from me, rusty and hoarse. His grin makes me feel good. Free. Like I’m not running from anything. Like I could stay here in this world, if only I have him. The thought unsettles me. Sinks heavily in my chest. Because I can’t have him. Not really. All he can ever be for me is a temporary fix. “But you’re worried I’ll get in trouble?” I try not to show how much this pleases me. I’ve managed to ignore him for days now and here I sit. Lapping up his attention like a neglected puppy. My voice takes on an edge. “Why do you care? I’ve ignored you for days.” His smile fades. He looks serious, mockingly so. “Yeah. You got to stop that.” I swallow back a laugh. “I can’t.” “Why?” There’s no humor in his eyes now, no mockery. “You like me. You want to be with me.” “I never said—” “You didn’t have to.” I inhale sharply. “Don’t do this.” He looks at me so fiercely, so intently. Angry again. “I don’t have friends. Do you see me hang with anyone besides my jerk cousins? That’s for a reason. I keep people away on purpose,” he growls. “But then you came along . . .” I frown and shake my head. His expression softens then , pulls at some part of me. His gaze travels my face, warming the core of me. “Whoever you are, Jacinda, you’re someone I have to let in.

She forced herself to turn back to Luke, who’d closed his eyes but was now gripping her hand with renewed intensity. “I love you,” she said, but her words were swallowed up by the screams all around them. Suddenly, with a bone-shaking crack, the dropship slammed into Earth, and everything went black. In the distance, Glass heard a low, guttural moaning, a sound full of more anguish than anything she’d ever heard. She tried to open her eyes, but the slightest effort sent her head into a sickening spin. She gave up and allowed herself to sink back into the darkness. A few moments passed. Or was it a few hours? Again, she struggled against the comforting quiet, fighting her way toward consciousness. For a sweet, groggy millisecond, she had no idea where she was. All she could focus on was the barrage of strange smells. Glass hadn’t known it was possible to smell so many things at once: There was something she sort of recognized from the solar fields—her favorite spot to meet Luke—but amplified a thousand times over. There was something sweet, but not like sugar or perfume. Deeper, richer. Every breath she took sent her brain into overdrive as it struggled to identify the swirling scents. Something spicy. Metallic. Then a familiar scent jolted her brain to attention. Blood. Glass’s

When I exited the bathroom this time, Marlboro Man was standing right outside the door--just as he’d been at his grandmother’s house when I’d had my flop sweat episode at his cousin’s wedding. He put his arm around me as I dabbed the corners of my eyes with a Kleenex. The gagging had sent my tear ducts into overdrive. “What’s wrong, honey?” It was the first time he’d called me that. I felt married. “I have no idea!” I said. “I must have picked up a stomach bug or something. I’m so sorry!” “It’s okay--we can just head back to the hotel.” “No! I want you to eat…” “I’m fine--I just ate a whole basket of bread and had two Cokes. I’m good to go.” The nausea hit again, and I ran back into the bathroom. After vomiting again, I decided to take him up on his offer. Exiting the cab back at the hotel, I found walking to be difficult. I hadn’t ingested a single drop of liquor, but I suddenly couldn’t walk in a straight line. Grabbing Marlboro Man’s arm, I used him to steady myself until we got to the room, where I immediately fell on the bed and wrapped myself in the comforter. “I feel so sorry for you,” Marlboro Man said, sitting down on the bed beside me and gently playing with my hair, a gesture that proved to be too much for me. “Could you please not do that?” I said. “The motion kinda makes me sick.” I was a complete and utter mess. I was a nauseated loser. It was Marlboro Man who deserved the sympathy.

Afraid to move and give away his nervousness, Zubair was in no hurry. Once most of the other passengers were gone, he retrieved his computer bag and made his way down the narrow stairs to the main body of the plane. He half expected to see a group of men in suits waiting for him, but thankfully there were none. He’d been warned that the Americans had gotten much better at intercepting people who were trying to illegally enter their country. Two female flight attendants with whorish makeup and skirts that were far too short stood by the door. They thanked him for flying Qantas. Despite what his trainers had told him, Zubair ignored the women, refusing to look them in the eye. Fortunately for him his diminutive stature made him seem shy rather than hostile. Zubair was just five and a half feet tall, and weighed a svelte 142 pounds. With his mustache shaved he easily passed for someone five to ten years younger than his twenty-nine years. He stepped into the Jetway, joining the stampede for baggage claim and customs and sandwiched between the business-class and economy customers. The stress of the situation and the heat of the enclosed Jetway triggered the scientist’s sweat glands, sending them into overdrive. Within seconds salty perspiration dampened every inch of his skin. Zubair felt trapped, as if he was on a conveyor belt headed toward his own execution. There was no turning back. Passengers continued to pour off the plane, pushing forward, moving through the confined tunnel toward U.S. Customs agents who would ask probing questions. Zubair suddenly wished he had taken the sedative that they had given him to calm his nerves. He had thrown the pills away at the Sydney airport. Allah would never approve of him taking a mood-altering drug.

She placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Her heart was in overdrive, pounding through her body and into her head, dominating her senses. But then she noticed something else.

My world is so huge right now—when a Wide Iwish Rose puts her arms around my neck and calls me a silly daddy, my heart almost doesn’t fit in my chest. That Rosie—she isn’t just an idea. She’s more than I could have imagined if my imagination had gone into overdrive.” Franci was quiet for a moment. Then she put a spoonful of ice cream to his lips. “I know,” she said. “You’ve turned yourself into a wonderful silly daddy.” He swallowed the ice cream. “I need you to forgive me for the man I was… If you can.” “I forgave you when I saw you with our daughter. It’s all different now.” “I know I suggested marriage before, but you were onto me. I was just trying to check off the items on my to-do list. It isn’t like that now. I want to marry you because you’re the most important thing in my life. You’re the beat of my heart, Franci—the mother of my child, my best friend and my future. I love you more than anything. I love Rosie as much. I’d lay down my life for either one of you.” “Sean…” she said in a whisper, tears coming to her eyes. “I’m so sorry I had my head up my ass when we were together before—if I could do that whole time over, I’d prove to you that I’m not completely brainless. I love you, baby. You and Rose.” “I know,” she whispered. “We love you, too.” “Will you marry me?” he asked. He grinned. “Bite the dust with me? Spend our lives as husband and wife?” “I will, of course. You’re obviously useless on your own.” “We can plan a wedding or do it quick or wait to decide when I get orders—it’s up to you. Anything you want. But let’s get a license right away so we’re ready, because I need the official contract. I want to be your legal partner as well as your lover and best friend. And let’s get you a ring. Will you consider taking my name, baby? And let me give it to Rosie?” “Uh-huh,” she said, a fat tear rolling down her cheek. “It’s just details, honey—but the important part is right this minute, when we make the decision that we’re a family now.” “We’re a family now,” she said. “Whew,” he said. “I thought you’d probably say yes, but there was a little worry in the back of my mind that maybe I had more to prove. Thank you.” He leaned toward her and covered her lips with his. “Thank you,” he said again. “I love you so much. So let’s get the license and ring this week—what do you think?” She put her bowl on the bedside table. “I think my ice cream is soup, so you should close the door and take my clothes off. What do you think?” He grinned hugely. “I think I’m going to love being married to you.” *

Then everything went into overdrive because Jonas turned his head to seek out my mouth at the exact same time that Mace swallowed me down. Jonas

I looked up at him and gave him my biggest, goofiest grin, all the while chanting in my head: only friends, only friends... "Anything for you, sweetheart." Only friends, only friends. His hand moved up to cup my face, his thumb trailing along my jaw and I froze, my mind went blank. It was only when he began to move closer that my brain went into overdrive.

Carlos, what are you doing here?” she asked surprised. He was standing before her in nothing but a blanket wrapped around his waist. “Are you naked?” she asked shocked. She thought her eyes would pop out of her head. “Don’t freak out, I’m not naked,” he assured and held the blanket in a tighter grip. “I’m wearing underwear.” “Why are you in my house in the middle of the night in your underwear?” She couldn’t stop staring at every inch of his body. The spinning in her head was suddenly on overdrive. If she wasn’t still drunk, she’d jump his bones. She drew in a sudden breath and her eyes got big. “Did we do it?” she got out in a whisper.

Ren? Talk to me.” His lips twitched before he finally spoke in a low tone. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing again and make you cry more.” The pure innocent sweetness of that wrenched another sob from her. “Ah, see now what I did. I’m sorry, Kateri. I won’t say anything else. I promise.” She laid her head down on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s so not you, baby. You did nothing, absolutely nothing wrong.” She squeezed him tight, wishing she could make him understand. “All you’ve been is wonderful.…” Ren knew she was speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. Not after she’d called him baby and sweetie. No one had ever used an endearment for him before. Until now, the closest anyone had come was to call him friend or brother. But baby … He’d never been anyone’s baby. “Are you listening to me?” You should probably say yes. That would be the smartest thing to do. But for some stupid reason the truth came out before he could stop it. “Um … no.” “Why are you tuning me out?” she snapped as fury lit up her eyes. Ren moved his jaw, trying to explain, but no words would leave his lips as he stammered over the word I. Why do I always do this shit when I least want to look like an idiot? He expected her to be angry. Instead, she kissed him senseless. Every part of him went into overdrive as his cock hardened. She pulled back. “What were you trying to say?” Heat scalded his face. “I didn’t hear anything after you called me baby.

C’mon, big guy,” she said, rising up on her tiptoes so that she could lay her hand against his jaw. The moment her flesh touched his, his entire body went white-hot. Every hormone he possessed fired into overdrive. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe as that heat seared him and he tried to imagine what she’d taste like. With a smile that caused his stomach to flutter, she moved his jaw up and down. “You can do it. Look how easy.…” Then she deepened her voice to mimic his. “Wow, Teri. I never knew speaking would be so easy. Thanks for telling me. I might even want to try and do this on my own one day.” In spite of himself, he smiled at her antics. No one had ever been so playful around him. Most kept a wide distance out of fear. Pulling her hand away, he stared down at her. “Ha ha.” She scowled. “You really can’t go over two syllables, can you? What? Did you lose a bet with a sorcerer or something? If you let out three does your head explode or do you get some form of ED?

A special treat has been prepared----ayu, a troutlike fish caught in the Nagara River from the Gifu area. It is served whole over a bed of rice, once a currency and now a sacred grain. "Very fresh," the chef informs us with a proud smile. "Caught this morning." "It's considered a delicacy," my father says as the chef leaves. I haven't managed a taste yet. I'm watching my father, observing how he'll eat the fish. He brings the bowl to his face, then uses the ohashi to grasp the tiny sweetfish and take a bite, staring with the head. I blink. Oh, okay. That's how it's done. I pick up my ohashi and copy his moves. My teeth sink into the fish. I wait for my gag reflex to kick in, but it doesn't. The skin is crunchy and salty, but gives way to a softer, sweet inside, tasting like watermelon. My saliva glands kick into overdrive. Just like that, I'm all in. If ayu is on the menu, I'll have two.

We like to walk around with a story in our head that we are a good, decent, competent person. Whenever evidence presents itself to the contrary, our ego goes into overdrive to rationalize, justify, or explain away why the opposite cannot, must not, be true. Our ego does many good things for us, acting like a social immune system that swats away psychological threats.

Lodestones also take friction out of the system. People are understandably concerned to meet the expectations of their leader, particularly one who has a strong personality. Imagine that one such A asks a rhetorical question in a meeting. Someone eager to please or frightened about perceived lack of contribution decides to act on the question. Within days, an internal industry has been developed to try to answer the A’s question; within a week, the project has grown a life of its own; after three months of late nights, heated debate and takeaway pizzas, an answer to the A’s long-forgotten question lands with a thud on their desk. The A thumbs through the thick folder, calls in their C and, baffled at its origin, asks ‘What on earth is this all about?’ An answer from the C along the lines of, ‘Well, you asked this question in a meeting three months ago,’ wouldn’t cut it. The A didn’t mean for the machine to go into overdrive on their behalf and will be angry that you let that happen. People have suffered as a result of thinking too hard about what the big guy (or gal) wants. The intimidating A has got limited time. People are too nervous to stick their head around the door and ask, ‘Hey, boss, that question you just raised in the meeting, do you want someone to take a look at it, or were you just thinking aloud?’ A confident Lodestone may not even have to ask the question. They will have an instinct about what is important to the A based on the A’s current agenda, which will enable the C to prevent friction, and months of wasted effort, by telling their colleagues, ‘Don’t bother with that one, the boss was just asking a question.

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And this is how most people live their lives, moving from one distraction to the next. When they’re at work they’re too busy, too distracted, to be aware of how they really feel, so when they get home they’re suddenly confronted by lots of thoughts. If they manage to keep themselves occupied during the evening, then they may not even become aware of these thoughts until they go to bed at night. You know how it goes, you put your head on the pillow and it appears as though the mind suddenly goes into overdrive. Of course, the thoughts have been there all along, it’s just that without any distractions you become aware of them. Or it can be the other way around. Some people have such busy social lives or family lives that it’s not until they get to work that they become aware of just how frazzled they feel, of all the thoughts racing around in the mind.

He remembers giving himself a pep talk that would play in his mind throughout the day. "They're watching," he told himself. "You're a symbol. You need to act the way a head of state must act." As the day wore on, his aides could see Zelensky's posture stiffen. His tone became clipped, and he began to issue a stream of orders from the bunker and from his office on the fourth floor. Most of his decisions had no real basis in experience or planning. Zelensky had neither of these things to guide him at the time, but he didn't seem to mind. His assent to the presidency from the world of comedy would not have been possible without a knack for projecting confidence even when he lacked it. Now that skill went into overdrive, and Zelensky became what one of his aides described as a "decision generator.